


Evidence of the Figurative

by Geelady



Category: Star Trek 2009 Reboot
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geelady/pseuds/Geelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe<br/>Rating: Adult/slash<br/>Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.</p><p>Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life. (There is some court room stuff in here but that can get a bit boring for the readers, I’ve found, so most of this takes place outside the court-room).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Evidence of the Figurative...  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.

Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life. (There is some court room stuff in here but that can get a bit boring for the readers, I’ve found, so most of this takes place outside the court-room).  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

“And you freely admit to firing upon an un-armed Starfleet officer with your issue Phaser on the date in question?”

“On Stun setting, yes.”

The Prosecutor’s lips curled up a fraction, an emotional facial tic’ Spock recognised. It was often employed to convey subtle distain. “Stun setting, yes we are aware, but with prolonged duration of over two seconds-”

“- two-point-three seconds.”

“Yes, yes, yes but enough to render your victim, Commander Meredith Reynolds, dead. More than enough duration in fact as confirmed upon examination by the Enterprise’s highly qualified physician not ten minutes later. Commander Reynolds was dead at the two second mark, according to your own ship’s Doctor McCoy.”

Spock shifted his feet. The prosecutor’s words were being chosen with care; the possessive ‘your’ instead of ‘the’, using ‘victim’ and the dead man’s full name in tandem, emphasizing that his Phaser had been discharged at length, thereby bringing into question whether he had wanted to merely stop the Commander’s attack or instead deliberately kill him. As was his tactic at emphasizing that Leonard McCoy confirmed the death of their crew-mate in order to tease the courtroom of emotional on-lookers as though - “See? Even his friends convict him.” 

Spock did not look at the room full of eyes. “I saw no other option. Reynolds was about to push my captain off a cliff.”

“So you have hypothesized about Commander Reynolds, Mister Spock, Commander Reynolds - this is a court of law and, with the Honor’s indulgence I’d like for all of us to stand on ceremony. But as we are in this court of law we are not here to debate what might be; for example what might be your over-enthusiastic tendency to surmise the potential actions of another person. A court room is not a crucible of possibilities but of truth; of proofs - of established facts. And the facts are you witnessed what you believed to be a struggle between your James Kirk and Commander Reynolds, then you made a rather hasty judgment as to the Commander’s motives and, instead of inquiring as to what might have been in play between them, you shot him.”

“I made a judgment call based on the evidence-”

“Based upon nothing more than the evidence of your eyes.”

“-My eyes are not all I had with which to make a judgement Mister Pratt.”

“Ah, yes, your previous claims to Commander Reynolds so-called hostility toward James Kirk.”

“Captain James Kirk,” Spock felt an un-common spark of emotional satisfaction as the prosecutor’s flinch, “since we are standing on ceremony.”

Pratt smiled indulgently and Spock had the distinct impression he was being patronized. “We have heard testimony from expert witnesses, clerks, official keepers of records, that you on no less than two occasions made inquiries into Commander Reynolds past performance in Starfleet, his official record of service, his missions, even his shore-leave activities.”

“Yes. It was necessary. I suspected Commander Reynolds of harbouring a...heavily disdainful attitude toward Captain Kirk. My intent was to evaluate his behavior.”

“Why?”

“I am not human, as such I could not go on what you humans call ‘gut instinct” therefore I needed empirical data.”

“I meant why did you wish to evaluate him at all? Starfleet had already certified him a competent officer.” 

“It was not his Starfleet record I was studying; it was his behavior as an officer and as a man.”

“But then the judgement of another’s human behavior must, by definition, include “gut feeling” if it had any hope of drawing more than a surface conclusions, wouldn’t you agree? I mean after all, you said so yourself – you are not human.”

“But I am part human, so I did not think it outside my ability to make that judgement. As you yourself have said, the facts speak for themselves; Commander Reynolds tried to kill Captain Kirk. It is my duty if at all possible to protect my Captain from harm. I saw that I had no other choice but to shoot Commander Reynolds before he could succeed in that endeavor.”

“Shoot him enough to kill.”

“No. Enough to stop, but not to kill.”

Pratt pursed his lips and nodded, but not in agreement. “Commander Spock. How long duration necessary must a Phaser blast be applied to bring a victim down? To stop a man from, let’s say, running away?”

“There is no exact length of duration, many factors are involved; the person’s general health for example.”

“Okay. But would you say, over-all, a duration of a second or less? Might that be a common duration when trying to bring someone to a halt? Make them fall over?”

“Point two to point 5 seconds is...one average that has been recorded during controlled tests of each Phaser design over the last twenty years.”

“What about modern Phasers – newer Phasers? Would you say it is less time? As the weapons continue to be refined, would the amount of time needed to incapacitate a victim is greater or less?”

“Naturally, as the weapons have advanced in design and efficiency, the duration of a Phaser strike has shortened.”

“All right, but there are mitigating circumstances – yes? A person’s health, age and other factors are involved, as you indicated.”

“Correct.”

“I see. So in all the inquiries you made into Commander Reynolds over the weeks preceding his death, did you – even once – look into the Commanders health records?”

“Those are closed to general inquiries.”

“But then so are personal records – the Commander’s shore-leave activities – are not those closed as well?”

Spock felt the sharp, and very human, sting of shame for his illegal activities. Illegal but necessary. Therefore unequivocally logical. His Vulcan reasoning did not manage to completely quell the emotion however. “Yes.” 

“Yet you managed to do it. Illegally broke into private records. And in all those illegal inquiries, you didn’t once think to check into Commander Reynolds health records?”

It had been a critical error. “No...I regret that it did not...occur to me.”

“Well had you done so, you would have found...” Pratt picked up a sheaf of papers - 

Spock thought it odd that humans still insisted on chopping down their trees to make paper records despite recording devises that could keep information intact for ten thousand years. It was just one more aspect of human behavior that was a continual puzzle to him. Kirk had tried to explain it to him. “Humans like to have something solid – something substantial in their hands - we’re very tactile people Spock.”

And yet a data-pad was no less solid or substantial than a sheet of bleached pressed wood pulp. It also had the distinct advantage of not lopping down a living thing in order to produce it.

Pratt rustled his paper. “...that Commander Reynolds suffered a chronic condition of the heart called – Beta-Prime-Thallian Virulent Tachycardia – for which he took daily medication. It’s an ailment that Thallians contract during childhood. To them it’s no more serious than a mild ‘flu is to us, but if a human catches it – which Commander Reynolds did when station on Beta-Prime Thallian with his Mother - she was Starfleet’s ambassador to the Thallian home world – it causes irreversible changes in the human cardiac synod at the chromosomal level. The heart beats too fast. If not diagnosed and medicated in time, the person dies of a slowly rising heart rate – leading to cardiac arrest within hours.”

“I am aware of the condition.”

“Yet you didn’t bother to check whether Commander Reynolds was in good health. Was not aware that a sustained Phaser blast could kill him? Didn’t care whether your Phaser blast was prolonged, longer than necessary, even for a healthy individual – didn’t care to get a complete picture of the man before you made the decision to kill him?”

It was true that he had not checked the man’s health records. It was true that he had held distaste for Reynolds methods, and had become alarmed at Reynolds hostility toward Captain Kirk. And regretted that he’d had insufficient time to determine the origin of that hostility before a situation arose where his captain’s life lay in the balance. 

He could have made the decision to run to his captain’s aid but had calculated that Reynolds was gaining the upper hand and was pushing Kirk toward the cliff face and seconds counted - and then, suddenly, there were not enough of them. So he had fired. Privately the most distressing part was that he could not remember doing so. His Phaser had been raised, set and discharged before he had blinked. And after, it had taken his mind another second or two to wake up to the already completed action. Then to make his way to Kirk and assess whether Reynolds still lived or no had taken another few seconds. Everything for many seconds had become a strange, unfamiliar slow-motion performance of stunned silence and Kirk giving him looks from his human cache of emotions – most he had not understood at the time.

Only later did one of those expressions stick in his mind, repeating over and over – sorrow – not for the dead man, but for him. It was the one expression he had not asked his captain about. It was the one that had puzzled him the most. 

To Spock that act of shooting Reynolds had been in his memory the most instinctual act he had ever experienced. The most human reaction from a place inside himself that he had, up until that point, been a stranger to. A place he had, prior to that moment, not known existed. For the very first time in his life, he had felt shame at having a human for a mother. And then had felt shame over his shame, for he had admired and deeply respected her and often felt her absence keenly since her death.

“By my judgement I had no choice but to shoot Commander Reynolds. I...regret his death but it was not my intent to take his life.” He felt his uncertainty once more there in front of the judge and the witnesses, many of which were his fellow officers and crew-mates there to lend him their “moral support” as McCoy had explained. “Perhaps my Phaser blast was longer than it needed to be but I was...” 

Emotional? Stunned? Terrified that his captain was about to die? Desperate not to let that happen?

“I was caught off-guard by the situation. I did not realise Commander Reynolds’ intent was to harm Captain Kirk – as to the origin of his hostility, after my research I had surmised that it was perhaps professional jealousy – I ran out of time to study it further when Kirk took Reynolds to the planet to negotiate opening a dialogue with the Creesians. Reynolds had much experience living among pseudo-xenophobes as his mother before him had. Everything seemed to be in order with the mission but when my captain ceased to answer our repeated attempts at communication with him, I took a security officer and transported down. We found Captain Kirk and Commander Reynolds in a struggle...it was obvious that my captain was losing...” 

“-So you decided to kill Reynolds!” Pratt spat for the benefit of the on-lookers.

“I made the decision to stop Reynolds from completing his attack on my captain. I regret that it cost him his life. Contrary to what you have insisted, Mister Pratt, killing a fellow officer was not remotely my intention.”

“And yet he is dead.”

Spock looked over to Kirk, his eyes drawn to the young captain who was rapidly becoming, as Kirk had assured him, his friend, but tore his eyes away once more before he answered. “Yes.”

Pratt turned to the jurors of officers and the hall of witnesses and made his closing arguments. Spock, who had decided to represent himself, despite Bones insisting he was a “stubborn, green-blooded idiot” for doing so, abstained from closing remarks.

Kirk slumped in his chair at that, his eyes full of concern and sorrow. Once more Spock felt shame tear through the region of his heart, leaving behind a raw ache he could not dispel. His captain was disappointed. The observation may not have been logical but Spock thought it very fitting. 

The judge’s droning voice spoke now, repeating his restrictions that Spock be confined to the Enterprise. He was officially off-duty and under the supervision of his captain or who-ever his captain chose to oversee him. The military council members waived their privilege of statements and court was adjourned until a verdict was reached.

Kirk located him among the crowd, throwing the two security personnel flanking his first officer a dark look. "There's no need for an escort. He won't break the conditions of the court."

Spock felt a swell of gratitude for his captain's confidence. No, he would not break the conditions of his confinement aboard the Enterprise. Kirk knew that of course, and he knew it because Spock is Vulcan and would not ever contemplate rebelling against a commanding officer and certainly not his captain whom he had vowed to serve. When a Vulcan gave his word, he kept it. 

Just as he had given his personal and professional word to protect his captain from harm. He had made the same vow over the crew of the Enterprise. It was common knowledge. It was the expected behavior of all Starfleet personnel and he was no different. Not special.

"Sorry, sir, protocol." The taller security officer said. "We have to escort him aboard."

Hidden below his captain's curt nod Spock sensed Kirk was, to use a remembered phrase of McCoy’s, ‘not a happy camper’. With the dark expression Kirk had tossed to the security persons, Spock knew he had been correct. His observations of human behavior in general - and James Kirk's in particular – continued to improve.

"Fine." Kirk snapped and moved toward the nearest transporter station, knowing Spock would follow without being ordered to.

Naturally he did. Kirk was his captain. Where else would he go?

STSTSTSTST

“Once they were in the lift to Officer’s Deck and his own quarters, Kirk –who had appeared to be brooding, deigned to speak. “You’re not losing your commission Spock.”

Although he knew his captain had little control over the matter, he wisely did not contradict him. Kirk could be remarkably reactionary when his personal convictions were questioned. “I appreciate your belief in my position captain.”

Kirk looked a bit put out. “It’s not a ‘belief’, Spock, you didn’t do anything wrong. They’re idiots if they don’t find you innocent.” 

What was that McCoy often said about Starfleet – ‘Plenty of idiots to go around’? “I cannot allow myself to indulge in wishes, sir. Once all the chaff is burned away, the facts are evident. I did kill Commander Reynolds.”

“Yes, but not deliberately. Not with intent.”

He remembered the Phaser in his hand, remembered dropping it after. 

Did not, however, remember it discharging. Did not recall how long he had held the trigger down. Long enough to kill Reynolds, obviously. Therefore too long a duration. Why had he not taken into consideration the man’s health history? It had been a grave oversight. But then he had not anticipated finding himself in the position of having to fire upon him. Had not foreseen the attack on Kirk by Reynolds. Had not deduced that the man was as unstable as he had proved to be.  
Spock tried to swallow passed the uncharacteristic dryness in his throat and turned to his captain. “I held the trigger for too long, the evidence proves it but-”

Kirk turned to face his first officer, crossing his arms. In other it would have been a mannerism suggesting emotional distance. With Kirk it was just the captain getting comfortable, and not only that but giving his first officer his full attention. Listening intently in fact. “But what? Spit it out Spock.”

He tucked his hands behind his back, a formal stance but not one of distance. Much to his astonishment, early on James Kirk had been a man willing to listen, willing to be more than just a captain. He had made himself a friend to the young Vulcan. Kirk was Spock’s first foray into that human arena; a relationship based on mutual social (not merely professional), interactions. It was still a new sensation, this sharing of private thoughts. “I am cognizant that I fired my weapon but...I do not remember doing so. I...was...” He swallowed again. The correct words eluded him. How to describe in non-emotional terms (which were imprecise), the sensation of his heart dropping from his chest? How to describe the breathless fear that assaulted him at the thought of James Kirk’s death? “I believe, when I saw you in imminent danger that I became...

“...I think I panicked, sir.”

“Well, that’s normal in a situation like that –“

“- not for a Vulcan.” He swiftly corrected. “I have been trained since a small child to control my emotional responses so they do not control me.” His father’s mantra, one he had heard through-out his growing years. And his mother’s counsel, often given in private away from the sensitive ears of her husband, “Someday, perhaps you’ll become the best of both worlds, my son. Most of all I wish you happy in your choices.”

His mother had not understood then that Vulcan children are given little choice in the matter of emotional training. Surak’s philosophy was the Ruling Pattern of Vulcan Thought. It was Logical. Logical had saved ancient Vulcan world from imploding in its own thirsts for violence and bloodshed. Logic was crucial to the survival of all Vulcans. Logic was The Way. It was the only religion allowed on Vulcan now.

“Not for a Vulcan, Captain. My actions compromised the situation. My judgment was in error.” He shook his head, unable to sort out exactly what had happened there at the cliff edge. Why his Vulcan heritage had failed him. “I made a mistake-”

“-You tried to save me. You did save me. And maybe you made a mistake, but here I am alive because of it. Forgive me for not being upset with you.”

Once more Spock felt that curious sensation from before flow through his body. It was preposterous that a few simple, kind words from Jim Kirk would cause such a reaction in his physical self. Yet he could not deny the stubborn emotions that continued to intrude upon his Vulcan guard-walls. Jim Kirk seemed to have the ability to knock down his life-long emotional fortifications with a turn of phrase or a quirk of a human eyebrow. It was more than disconcerting. It was illogical! “I am...gratified you are alive, captain.”

Kirk rolled his eyes a bit but smiled. Spock could not sort out the contradiction. “Gratified huh? Well, glad you think so.” Kirk punched a short code into the lift’s controls. “Hungry?”

“No.”

“You don’t eat enough. McCoy told me you were doing your, and I quote, “Blasted Vulcan fasting thing” and you’re under-weight again. Come on - we’re having dinner.”

Spock blinked. “You mean together?” He had not meant to sound so nervous. 

“Unless there’s another captain in this lift whose invited you to dinner...”

Another human expression; a mildly humorous statement meant to convey a question but a rhetorical one; not one requiring an answer. “Um, that is – no, captain.” Then he remembered to add “Er, thank you.”

“Thank me after we’ve tried out the food processors. They’ve been giving Scotty troubles again. My sirloin might taste more like dirt than steak.”

STSTSTSTST

Kirk was the first to enter the third of three mess halls that served the ship. The first two, Scotty had been quick to explain, would be opened no later than the following afternoon. In the mean-time he’d been sending hungry crew members either to the Preserved/Frozen food stores or here; the third and partly working dining hall where there was limited food being served up but no lighting save for the candles flickering on the occupied tables. Someone had displayed foresight by leaving a pile of emergency candles on a table near the entrance complete with electric flame-lighters.

Kirk scooped up one of each, moved to one of the six food dispensers and ordered up a steak sandwich and a glass of water. Spock ordered up some Vulcan Plomik soup and then was forced to choose a Terran vegan variety due to the now extreme rarity of Vulcan native plants. He was not hungry but joined his captain at a remote corner table. Kirk struck the lighter and lit the artificial wax candle, setting it to flicker in a second small glass to catch the drip. Spock frowned at the action. There would be no drip. Artificial wax burned completely and cleanly, leaving no residue.

Kirk saw his face and misconstrued it as confusion. “Childhood habit I guess.” As a boy, his mom had often had to compromise on household lights whenever her live-in-boyfriend-of-the-moment had neglected to upkeep the utilities. Utilities were dirt cheap, but then so were most of her boyfriends. Candles, the old fashioned real wax kind, had been a staple in his mother’s kitchen drawers, and she had always admonished him to catch the drips.

Spock extrapolated much from Kirk’s words. And he had read Kirk’s personal file and history – a matter of public record. Poor, as a child, years spent running away and so assigned to one foster home after another. As a youth, little had improved. Aptitude levels off the charts, including a fluid intelligence that rivalled his own, but rebellious nature compromised the growing years with repeated periods in youth detention centers or ‘reform institutes’.

Star fleet had brought great and positive changes to the wayward but brilliant James Kirk. He was well liked, free with his friendship and seemed to have mastered the art of inspiring swift and deep loyalty in others. Jim Kirk was perfect captain material and had been commissioned his own ship at the historically young age of twenty-nine.

Spock could not help but compare the trappings of his own childhood on Vulcan. 

He had been - what the Vulcan physicians had not openly stated - an experiment. The first human/Vulcan hybrid. A half-breed offspring - a son – especially bred for one of the oldest, wealthiest, traditional and stoic-ly reserved clans on the planet. Why his father had agreed to it he never dared openly ask. Secretly he knew the reasons. His mother, despite her living among the Vulcans for most of her married life, had loved her virtually impossible baby without reservation, though careful to restrain her gestures of affection whenever company called. To pleasing her husband she had also been dedicated without reservation.

His mother loved him. His father tolerated him. But the Vulcan scientists had labeled him a failure. He was not supposed to have survived. The Pure Blood Religious Order had been displeased by his continuing to draw breath.

The other Vulcan children were not accepting either. Twenty years of ridicule and taunts had molded him into a quiet, isolated figure with his head buried in books, one who harbored a growing wish to escape the confines of his heritage that espoused logic, reason and the celebration of IDIC while at the same time- by their silent disapproval - insisting that he was incapable of satisfactorily complying with any of them. He had been directed toward the Vulcan way with stern words and even sterner punishment for any breaches and yet, once he was of age, unwelcomed to join them as a full and acceptable member. 

Whispers and censured looks followed him everywhere. Finally, he had reasoned, if he entered the Vulcan Science Academy – prove to them he was their equal, surely then he would gain their approval. Spock marveled at his youthful naïveté. 

After that Star Fleet, his second choice, had become his primary – his only – retreat. 

Spock watched his captain happily cut into his Earth bovine synthetic steak and shove a substantial piece in his mouth, chewing contentedly. Two children from such different worlds; one desert, one ocean, so un-alike, yet sitting together on the Starfleet’s flag-ship, having dinner together. 

Astonishing how the universe unfolded. 

Kirk noticed his curious scrutiny and called him on it by smiling kindly, but with a tiny quirk of his left eyebrow. “Something on your mind Spock?”

Spock almost stuttered. “Enjoying y-your dinner captain?”

Kirk’s full lip twisted playfully. “The company more.” He said, then added “Except you never shut up, do you? Chatter-box.” Kirk immediately rushed to correct him when it was clear the Vulcan did not get his joke. “Just kidding Spock. It’s a joke.”

“I see. Explain please.”

Kirk dropped his fork and wiped his mouth on a small napkin. “Mmm, it’s irony. You hardly say a word so I call you a chatter-box; tease you about never shutting up...get it?”

“I think I understand. The joke is designed to underline – and gently mock - my normal quiet nature by pointing out an opposite behavior; one which you pretend to impute to me but in reality would never expect from me.”

Kirk frowned. “Okay, yes, but I think it was funnier the way I said it.”

“Undoubtedly.” 

Kirk stopped smiling and was instead staring at him in an emotional way Spock could not put definition to. So he employed a little used method that most humans illogically swore by – he guessed. “You are worried about me.”

Kirk folded his hands on the table between them and nodded solemnly. “Yes, Spock, I am.”

“In regards to the verdict.”

Kirk nodded again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“There are many qualified officers who could serve as first officer on board, captain.”

Kirk appeared a little sad again but this time his gaze was directed squarely at him. “I don’t want to lose my friend, you idiot.”

Spock looked down at his own hands now folded on the table as well. Their skin tones were as different as their histories. What was it like to have grown up on a water planet? Watch your skin browned beneath a yellow sun? Have the freedom to be all joyful boy-child, allowed to play and laugh and have fun? Run up and down on a beach with the power of the ocean crashing at your naked feet? 

Spock decided the questions arose from mere sentiment. Foolish emotion. Not logical. And besides the answer was a simple one: it would be different than what he had known. That was all. 

But he knew to Kirk it was not foolish emotion. Kirk valued him as more than a competent officer. Kirk saw him as a friend. A concept alien to Vulcans. A concept he was never-the-less learning to comprehend. A concept wherein the closest definition among Vulcans would be the Ah’Haug-Ta – the child-first-bond. His child bond-mate had been T’Pring who died on Vulcan by the hand of the war criminal Nero, along with six billion others. There would be no more bond-mates for Spock. When he came of the age and his first Pon-farr arose in his flesh, he would most likely die in the hours of his blood fever. No full blooded Vulcan female wished to be bonded to a half-breed and the wealth of the Vulcan clans had vanished down that black hole along with the planet’s inhabitants. 

His father had explained it to him. As a half-breed he was not even allowed to settle on New Vulcan. The old ways of the Pure Blood Religion still ruled even there. Even more so, now that the Vulcan race was endangered. No foreign genes wanted here.

His father’s marriage to his human mother had been the exception. The hybrid child-experiment that was him had brought even more wealth to his father’s clan. He had been a transaction agreed upon between his clan and the Vulcan Genetics Council. 

The experiment had been a failure. He had lived when he was supposed to have died. His death would have proved their theory (and the Pure Blood Religious leaders secret wish), that human and Vulcan genes cannot be joined successfully. With his death the Pure Blood Rule would have remained intact and undefeated by dissenting voices. 

Instead Spock had lived and confounded all their preconceived (and highly illogical) ideals. He’d been a disappointment before he was a single moment old. The name his father had given him, a name not found among his father’s clan, was further proof of his discounted life.

But now this ‘friendship’ – it was a human bond Kirk was teaching him; making him come to know, to accept even, whether he wished it or not. Spock was surprised at himself in that he believed he did wish it. “I do not want that either captain.”

“Spock, we’re off duty. Jim is fine.”

The captain had made the request before but it was one Spock had resisted. It felt unbecoming for the first officer to address his captain so informally, even when off-duty. But his captain wished it, so he would accommodate him. “Yes, of course, cap-Jim.”

Kirk took a sip from his glass of water. “You know I don’t even know your last name.”

“Difficult to pronounce - even in Vulcan. And it is a family name as well as a clan designation; one Vulcans don’t use it when off-planet.”

“Oh.”

Spock sensed that he had disappointed his captain somehow. And besides his planet was gone now. New Vulcan was a raw, muggy world Vulcans would have to evolve to live on comfortably. It was where his father resided now. His father who rarely spoke to him anymore, uncomfortable with the human-like grief he had displayed on the bridge of the Enterprise. His father’s repository of tolerance was a shallow one and his brief period of understanding over his son’s emotional display had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “But I will teach you it if you wish.”

“That’s okay. Maybe another time.” Kirk looked around the room; a casual surveillance of his fellow diners. “I’d like to discuss what we’re going to do.”

What was there to do? There was to wait for the verdict.

But Kirk just kept talking. “There must be something...some way we can convince the judge – before the verdict – to side with you.”

So the capt – Jim had doubts as to his version of events? It seemed out of keeping with his previous words of support. “I do not see what more there is to undertake.” 

“Well, for starters I want you to stop acting so damn milquetoast about the whole thing. Use that Vulcan genius and think of something. Maybe we can convince them you were emotionally compromised again.”

Spock felt an answering wave of shame and insult at the suggestion and Kirk picked up on it. “Look, I know it bothers your Vulcan sensibilities to even admit to having emotions but it might work. You are half human.”

“Approximately twenty-one percent human actually,” Spock corrected.

“Fine-fine, but it’s enough to work with isn’t it? There’s got to be a way to make that work to our advantage. Convince the judge that your human side took over – you reacted emotionally; you lost your head; you were compromised by fear...anything!” 

“You wish me to lie.” Spock said. 

Kirk waved his hands in the negative. “No, no, no, I would never ask you to do that unless, you know, you wanted to, but I want you to explore the possibility of emphasizing that; of enhancing that side of you. Humans do all kinds of things when they’re out of their mind...temporary insanity or...whatever.”

Spock stared at his captain, not certain he understood him completely. “Are you saying you wish me to explore my genetic human side? To bring to the fore my human tendencies? To subjugate my Vulcan abilities, as it were, and allow my human side to rule in order to influence the judge’s decision?”

“Well...why not? If it keeps you on board as my first officer, it’s worth a try isn’t it? Rather than losing your commission? Or going to prison?”

Spock felt his world shift just a little, a rumble in the foundation of all he valued. “Captain, I am a Vulcan. I can only fabricate such an elaborate lie under a direct order from my commanding officer. If you wish me to attempt this, you must make it a direct order.”

Kirk sat back and spread his hands. “If that’s what it takes, well then okay. I directly order you to bring your human side out of its cubby hole, convince everyone you lost your human/vulcan head on that planet and then tell that to the judge.”

Spock heard the order, let in bind to his consciousness. Wrote it across his mind with a virtual and indelible medium and then set to obey. It was now his Vulcan sworn duty to bring it about; to bring his human side into the light and under the unforgiving judgment of all eyes in the sight of him. “Yes, captain.”

STSTSTSTSTST

Part II asap. 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
> Rating: Adult/slash  
> Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
> Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.

Evidence of the Figurative Part II  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.   
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

(This chapter’s a bit more light-hearted but don’t worry, angst-a-plenty coming right up). Author 

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTST

The Captain...Kirk...Jim had once again touched him during lunch. Over a discussion of which pretty yeoman Scotty had been seen sharing his lunch hour of late. The yeomen, or ensigns, appeared to change every month or so with the ship’s engineer. Not that romantic involvement among the crew was against protocol, it was simply an activity with which Spock had little previous experience in; the romantic entanglements, not the sharing of lunch hours. He and Jim frequently shared either their lunch or dinner hour - depending on duties of course. The thirty minutes or so had become a pleasant diversion; one he looked forward to now that he was not allowed to perform his duties and his day consisted largely of nothing to do.

As Spock walked the decks of the Enterprise with even paces, he could still feel the touch of Jim’s hand during their shared meal. Just as Spock was about to excuse himself to return his empty bowl to the recycler, Jim had reached over and placed his hand, palm down, on his forearm, stopping his motion. 

It had so startled him that he had almost not heard the words from his captain regarding his offer of a chess game later in the captain’s quarters. It was a curious sensation, that the feel of another’s touch would remain on the skin long after the fingers had been removed. He was not unfamiliar with the human need to touch, but most humans understood the Vulcan aversion to physical contact originating outside the borders of close kin. Kin whom were connected or betrothed – linked-in-mind or those waiting-for-Kahtra, the sharing of the mental soul.

Jim Kirk was none of these yet he seemed to have no borders of his own when it came to his first officer. It had not been the first time that James Kirk had touched him, seeming to do so whenever it struck him. Jim did not appear to take seriously the Inter-species Code of Conduct within Starfleet. It was required reading as there were seven non-human species now serving alongside Earthmen in a variety of ship-board capacities and well as Earth-side roles, and the number of ‘aliens’ in service to Starfleet was only growing. Not all welcomed the touch of others, particularly an alien’s. 

Not that Jim’s touch had been unpleasant – exactly. It had in fact bought back to memory those fleeting moments when his mother had embraced him whenever he had come home from classes with a bloody nose or torn robes, or his lesson-book smeared with other students’ saliva, its electronics ruined. His mother had - unless father was home - taken him onto her lap, held him to her tightly and stroked his hair while explaining that people were sometimes cruel; especially when faced with things they did not understand or which scared them. 

Spock had listened, unable to fathom why his having a gentle and kind human mother could possibly frighten anyone. 

No, the touch from Jim’s fingers had not been uncomfortable, simply unexpected. Spock had found himself transfixed by the man’s cool skin and the curious way Jim had rendered a single squeeze of his fingers before releasing him as though he had determined that his first officer had needed a gesture of reassurance or...affection? So difficult to know the difference with humans; such a tactile species, always rubbing this or that part of their bodies together; kissing, pinching, licking, tasting, intercourse...often one or more beginning with a simple touch like a squeeze given to the forearm. 

There were so many physical gestures involved in human sexuality. Most of which among themselves they were able to interpret instantly. It was a little baffling, however, for him despite his partly human flesh. How did one distinguish a simple touch of an arm to gain a crewmate’s attention over another equally simple touch that would be instead interpreted as a sexual overture?

Not that Vulcan sexual biology was any less tactile or complex; it was a matter of degrees and timing. Vulcan sexuality was in some ways, more complex, since the drives were inescapable and deeply layered in time and seasons, instinct and ritual. As well Vulcans viewed touching, sex and The Bond with far more seriousness than humans; and, usually, with intent to life-long commitment. Humans often used sex as a type of after-hours recreation rather than a joining of minds and flesh. 

And the greatest and most palpable difference – The Vulcan Bond assured continued life. No human ever died from not being married. On Vulcan death associated with those Lacking-Bond was as familiar as birth was, and had been occurring from antiquity. 

He was nearer to his quarters now and the blissful retreat into meditation. His Vulcan thoughts leaned toward the more austere Vulcan way with approval; its logic and balance a welcoming balm to his troubled mind. Yet his human parts sparked with curiosity over the lingering physical touch from his captain. Other than Nyota, no one had ever touched him in such a way as to link his fingers in their own or kiss him on the mouth. Nyota had enjoyed doing both those things and he had appreciated the experience. 

But to bond with her, as a life-mate, had never come under serious discussion between them. Nyota was an exceptional woman, though she could be a trifle insistent with her hands. Their parting had been amicable, yet left him with a raw longing he could neither define nor dismiss with meditation. He assumed he simply missed her company, her absence felt more acutely whenever he saw her with her new romantic interest, the quiet Shrayshe of the Harah’ekon world. Shrayshe was a ‘Fe’Man’ – a Federation coined word indicating male/female as were all Harah’ekons. Shrayshe was an accomplished geologist (and who dabbled in xeno-linguistics- Nyota’s specialty. The union was therefore logical), who had transferred onto the Enterprise just before her departure from Earth after her six month maintenance Call-to-Port, and with whom Nyota had taken up into her company without delay.

Yet Nyota appeared happy in Shrayshe’s company, so logic dictated her split with the ships’ first officer to be the best decision for both parties. One could hardly deny her future happiness just because he was still too young a Vulcan for The Forever-T’hyla-Bond. Why should she be forced to wait for his Vulcan biology to catch up to her human one? It was curious that Nyota had never requisitioned sexual contact from him. He was capable prior to Pon Farr (if not yet fertile), yet she had never made the request.

Perhaps she did not desire interspecies children. The example of his upbringing and the difficulties he had encountered due to his mixed heritage would not have been lost on Nyota. She was an intelligent woman. It must have become clear to her that a bond with him would bring more grief to any resulting children than she thought acceptable. And she was correct; therefore her decision to part from him was undeniably logical. 

The irony was not lost on him that, now that he was no longer pursuing any romantic interest with a human crewmate – or anyone else – it was now that he was seeking his humanity. He had not found it of course, not yet. But some things appeared to be beyond his control, no matter how hard he pushed against them. It was proving difficult to dismiss the memory of his late mother’s touch –nor Jim’s - for example. In fact as he walked the corridors of the Enterprise, those memories were becoming physical again and suddenly he longed to feel her arms around him one last time and with thoughts of Jim’s hand on his arm the most recent contact, his skin was tingling most curiously. 

Dismissing such thoughts as fruitless sentiment, Spock determined that a long session of meditation before retiring was in order. Besides he had not yet come up with an effective answer to his captain’s order to “get in touch with his human side” as Kirk had deigned to remind him. He had researched the matter in the ship’s library to no avail. Emotionally charged titles filled with platitudes centering on enhancing emotions already felt such as: ‘Learn to Embrace Your Emotions’, ‘Never Be Afraid to Ask For Help’, and ‘Crying is Cathartic!’, none of which addressed his primary problem – how to develop the dormant emotive parts of him in order to utilize his human side so to influence another human into believing he had acted in a human – and therefore irrational – way due to extreme stress of the moment. The problem seemed insurmountable, somewhat confusing and not a little uncomfortable.

Kirk had insisted that the key to success was tapping into his humanity but how does one do that when one is only twenty percent human and that one-fifth has spent the majority of the twenty-four years of his existence being suppressed and subjugated under layers of Vulcan mental disciplines the foundations of which stretched back several millennia?

Spock had no idea how to approach the problem. And the captain had given him a short time-frame to accomplish it. The ruling judge of the Admiralty Court could reach a verdict at any time – although such decisions typically took from several days to several weeks depending on the seriousness of the charges. Logic dictated that he had perhaps ten days until a judgement was rendered.

Still...little more than a week to become more human; and the captain had been frustratingly vague on the details. Plus there were other concerns such an undertaking would bring to the fore – his mental state previous to the incident. Would not Captain Kirk himself then come under scrutiny for allowing what will then be viewed as a first officer allowed to continue his duties while mentally and emotionally compromised? Kirk would be shown to be a captain un-attentive to his crew at best and flagrantly reckless of his underlings’ welfare at worst. No Starfleet captain would ever require an ill member of his crew to beam down into a potentially dangerous situation.

What Jim asked was...difficult. It was quite possibly the most difficult personal quest which Spock had ever been ordered to do - act out a lie and be convincing about it. But by what methods? 

Spock entered his quarters and activated the door lock. Calling up his research into the subject he sat and let his eyes roam over the words as they appeared on the screen. They flashed by at his usual reading speed, but his eyes saw no words but those of his mother’s. “Spock, whatever happens today,” (the day of his acceptance/inauguration into the Vulcan Science Academy), “I hope you will be happy.”

And Jim Kirk’s words... “I don’t want to lose my friend.”

Spock felt prickling at the back of his eyes and resolutely blinked the sensation away. Ridiculous! The influence of his human physiology had given him tear ducts but he had no logical reason to weep. Kirk had presented him with a problem – a quest. And logically, it was his human side with which Kirk’s emotional attachment was the strongest. It was no easy task that lay before him yet all problems could be solved with logic applied.

“Computer - lights at ten percent. Increase ambient temperature by eight degrees centigrade.” He took his position on the floor by his view-port, facing out toward the stars, beyond the cloud-thick atmosphere of the VarkdaHt’s home world ten thousand kilometers below the ship’s orbit. 

His father had always questioned him on his places of meditative choice; looking out over his mother’s rose-filled courtyard, or toward the evening horizon and the jagged edges of the Planash’et Hills; or facing the blazing sunrise to the West of the village of Xhersho’kk. “Always outward,” Sarek would lament over his son softly as Spock did his best to ignore his father’s reproach and keep focused, “always away, toward something, instead of inward - In-seeing - where your attention should be.” 

Spock had never offered his father any explanation for his continual defiance of meditative tradition. Some things a son was not required to share with his parent. Some things he kept for himself alone. His choice of viewpoints had been pure human sentiment, he had realised even as a child. His eyes, though closed, continued to see the rhythmic movement of his mother’s rose garden as they were touched by the desert-heated wind or the rise of the white star over his planet, or the glow along the hills where he used to run and where his test of strength and resolve had occurred at age eleven. 

Five days alone with no food or source of water on the high desert, where the heat of the day would crisp any exposed skin and upon which would develop frost during the killing night cold. But he had enacted his mental disciplines with nothing but his meditation robe for control, comfort and warmth. 

Some children did not come back. 

But he had come back, intact and strong. A little worn out and hungry, but proving himself as capable as any pure Vulcan.  
Still his father had scolded him regarding his un-Vulcan display of enthusiasm over his success. “Emotional satisfaction was not the purpose of this test. The measure of a Vulcan’s will and his self-control are the goals in mind. Join me in meditation.”

To meditate away the stain of his emotions spilling all over the floor and daring to get their taint on his stern father’s robes.

 

This night, as had been many nights since the loss of his planet, meditation, the restful, deep-In-seeing meditation that he sorely needed, would not come. Letting out a very human sigh, Spock rose from his kneeling position, noting that he had been still for only fifty-six minutes.

Instead he took his seat at the desk, swivelled in his chair, not really aware that his feet continued to move him back and forth in a kind of side to side rocking motion as he contemplated his problem. It had been short-sighted of him to think mere book knowledge or a quick sink into a Vulcan mind discipline would give him the necessary insight on how to induce an emotional response in himself. Basic reasoning was needed. 

Emotions were physiological responses to stimuli – nothing more. 

This was a problem. Problems can be solved by logic applied. 

He would require a more direct approach. He activated his desk comm. “Mister Checkov - how long are we scheduled to remain in orbit around VarkdaHt?”

“The delegates will be completing their negotiations by twenty-one hundred Mister Spock.”

“Thank you Mister Checkov.” Spock made a mental note. His internal chronometer told him it was just half past fourteen hundred. He had nothing but free hours and the captain had not indicated, nor restricted, from where he ought to seek his humanity, only that he should. Still, it would not do to leave the ship without permission. “Captain Kirk.”

“Yes, Spock, what is it?” The captain, inexplicably, sounded concerned.

“I make request to leave the ship - under escort of course.”

“Oh.” There was two seconds of unexplained silence and Spock was about to speak again when Kirk added “And the reason being..?”

“Some personal business on the planet. I estimate it should not take more than two hours to complete.”

Spock had the oddest sensation of feeling Kirk’s eyes on him even though he was not in the room. “Fine,” Kirk finally answered. “See that it’s not more than two hours. We’ve a scheduled meeting with the ruling government this evening and I don’t want any non-essential personnel planet-side by the time that wraps up.”

A wise decision. The VarkdaHt’s were a distant cousin race to the Klingons and aggressive in their natures, they were not disposed to view with favour any species they viewed as weak, although their request for induction into the Federation had been going smoothly thus far.

“Of course captain, thank you.”   
STST

Kirk’s door chime rang. And then again. And then once more for several demanding seconds.

Stumbling from his shower, he hastily wrapped a towel around his waist and punched the door control. It swing aside and Leonard McCoy barged in without so much as a word. He was, however, pointing an accusing finger at his captain, his face was... 

Thunderous was the only word that came to Kirk’s mind.

Kirk sighed. So much for a relaxing evening with a good book. “Oh, yes, do come in Bones,” Kirk said with sarcasm dripping in plain sight, “Beverage?”

Bones waved away any of his captain’s attempts at smart-aleck talk with an impatient wave of his hand. “Never mind that, do you have any idea what I’ve been doing the last half hour?”

Kirk winced at his CMO’s volume. “You know, bones, I’m standing right here.”

“Well I wish to hell I wasn’t. Of all the idiotic – do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“You mean other than standing in my private quarters half-dressed while the CMO yells at his captain? No!”

The doctor all but stomped his way to the other side of the room and then, rubbing his palms together with unnecessary violence, turned back with a cloud of fury on his face. “I can’t believe I actually need to ask you this question but - the flying fuck! - I guess I have to: Did you order Spock to go off on some cockamamie quest to find his humanity??”

Kirk suddenly felt far more exposed than a mere towel was capable of concealing. And his heart suddenly decided to beat like a hammer on a xylophone against his rib-cage. Oh fuck my life - what am I about to hear? “Um, no, well, sort of – not exact-why? What the hell are you asking me that?” It was an answer but at least not a direct lie – exactly.

“Well I just finished a half hour of picking glass shards out of the skull of one sorry looking Vulcan in my Sick Bay, my dear ‘Captain’ of the Enterprise,” Bones paused long enough to tuck verbal bunny-ear quotes around the word captain, and then he continued. “His escort beamed him back here after what he said was an altercation with some ‘under-the-influence’ indigenous personnel. In short, Jimmy-boy – Spock was in a bar fight! And apparently he held his own pretty well despite the green blood on his clothes.”

Kirk began to stuff his legs into his previously discarded uniform pants. Jesus. “How bad is he?”

Bones scowled. “He’ll live, no thanks to you.”

“Cut the shit Bones – how bad?” Kirk pulled his shirt over his head in record time and stuffed sockless feet into his issue boots. Fuck!

“Some molecular stitches to that thick skull o’ his, lacerations on his arms and a couple of green breaks – if you’ll pardon the pun – to his ribs; which tells me the other guys were deadly serious about their business because it is not easy to crack a Vulcan rib.”

Christ! Kirk closed his eyes. Who’d thought the damn Vulcan would take him so literally? Jesus-fuck-green-idiots-taking-everything-literally-fuck! “Come on.”

STSTSTST

“There is no need to bring charges to the other men, captain.”

Kirk stared at his first officer with the stitched together scalp and his broken knuckles and his bloodied uniform tunic and the rips in his black undershirt exposing his bloodied skin underneath and– FUCK!.. And Spock... 

...stared right back at his floored captain as calm and as placid as a summer day on the lake. 

Kirk almost chirped. “Why the hell not?”

“I paid them to do it.”

The galaxy tilted one-hundred-twenty degrees up and then back down with a crash heard across the universe and back. Kirk felt the shift through to his furious-still-in-the-dark – FUCKING-FUCK! – oh!-so-angry bone marrow. “You...paid them??” His voice was hardly recognizable now. High pitched, squealing, hysterical, and exhausted already beyond belief at the turn of events. FUCK-MY-VULCAN-HAS-GONE-CRAZY-HOLY-FUCK! “In God’s Holy Roller name – why!?”

Spock was trembling slightly and Kirk thought with satisfaction - Good! I am so furious with you Spock, that later when you least expect it, I’m going to emote all over your ass a second time.

Spock did not notice Kirk’s lips working silently. Instead the wounded Vulcan simply continued to explain. “I wished to evoke an emotional response in myself and my journal research proved unsuccessful therefore I deemed it logical to try a different stimulus. Since the emotion ‘anger’ seemed the most likely one to surface under stress, I arranged an experiment to test my hypothesis utilizing physical stimulation.”

Kirk rubbed one forefinger and his thumb across brows aching with incredulity, and then sighed. He crossed his arms and stared one sane human to what, he was now convinced, was the very first Vulcan he had ever known of to step off the high end of Killer Logic Falls. “Are you saying you wanted to see if you could get angry by paying someone to punch you in the face?”

Spock looked at him, nodding encouragingly to his commanding officer who was clearly a little slow on the uptake tonight. “Exactly captain.”

Spock stared at his captain, whose face kept flushing from red to white and back to red. “Are you ill sir?”

Kirk just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. “A bar fight...” Kirk muttered. “Now we’ll have a diplomatic incident n our hands on top of the charges against you.” 

“There will be no difficulty regarding the establishment in question Captain.”

Kirk’s eyebrows shot up his brow but from Spock’s interactions with the captain over the last year post Narada, the gesture did not indicate curiosity so much as disbelief. “Oh? Why not?”

“I did my research well, captain.” Spock said, his tone gently reminding his commanding officer that he was a Vulcan and as such would never have stepped into a situation without sufficient knowledge and preparation. “The establishment in question hosted fights such as the one I arranged almost daily. It is an established part of their recreation; physical games, tests of strength and the like are all heavily laced through-out the VarkdaHt’s culture. Such a demonstration would merely enhance our reputation among them. Perhaps even facilitate future negotiations for trade.”

“Don’t try to milk this too far, Spock. Your little stunt was a bar fight, not a VarkdaHt Olympic event.”

Kirk had of course known that, but in the light of his first’s officer’s insanity, he’d just forgotten. “Right, so just tell me this - How did you manage to instigate a bar fight with a Starfleet security Officer at your side?”

“He excused himself momentarily to attend to physical eliminations.”

“You mean he went to the John?”

“In the idiomatic – yes.” Spock seemed entirely undisturbed over his violent venture into humanity. “It was your orders, captain. I merely attempted to fulfill them.”

Kirk ran a hand over the back of his head, making his still shower-dampened hair stand up in a comical ruff. “Spock, I didn’t mean it literally, you know, finding your emotions, becoming more human, I – Jesus – I was speaking figuratively.”

Spock sounded puzzled and he tilted his head at what had to be his captain’s unlikely meaning. He regretted his oft-times inability to ‘read between the lines’. “I do not see how figurative emotions will help me persuade the Admiralty that I was under stress during the Commander Reynolds incident. How does one get in touch with one’s humanity figuratively when clearly I require tangible proofs in order to elicit tangible results?” Spock asked, making Kirk groan aloud, to which Spock again began to inquire “Captain, are you certain you’re alri-?”

“Yes! – God – I’m fine, Spock, just...” He turned and walked a few paces away, stopping to lean against an adjacent examination table. “Just let me think for a second okay?”

“Of course captain.”

Kirk spent a moment trying to rub away the headache raging behind his eyes and gathering his thoughts. Then he took a deep breath and spoke. “I was wrong – this was a bad idea, I want...I want you to forget it. We’ll figure out some other way to convince the Admiralty.”

Spock felt that he had somehow disappointed his captain and friend. “I see.”

The sudden slump of his normally physically resolute first officer was not lost on Kirk. “This wasn’t your fault. I should have understood that what I was asking of you was...impossible.”

Spock felt his shoulders sagging and immediately straightened up when he saw Kirk noticing the sagging posture with concern. When he straightened his spine, however, his captain’s pinched expression eased. 

Kirk reached out a hand and patted Spock on the shoulder in a friendly way “Just get some rest Commander and I’ll...I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” Things would be fine now, the gesture seemed to say, crisis dealt with. Spock of Old Vulcan not insane.

Entirely.

The captain was undoubtedly off get some well earned ‘shut-eye’ now.

“As you wish, captain.” 

 

As Kirk left the Medical Bay and the doctor re-entered, moving to the far side of the room and his work desk, Spock came to understand one very important thing – his captain and friend believed him incapable of emotion; of simple feelings; perhaps even of the proper expressions of friendship. Spock, by being unable to tap into his human side, had sorely let down his human friend.   
Perhaps he was mistaken that he even had enough of a human side to tap into. He was a failure all over again. Who would ever want him for Bond? No pure Vulcan as he was not supposed to have lived. He was without a home or family – too human for the Vulcans and too Vulcan to fit in with the humans with which he was surrounded. And now he was even less acceptable to his one human friend than before the experiment. Spock-of-Vulcan-of-No-World felt as though a lone, feral beast. 

He did not belong among his peers. 

He did not yet belong to The Void. 

It was not logical, but inside - oh - how it ached. 

 

Spock returned to his quarters, walked directly to his room’s triple shelves that held an assortment of Vulcan, human and other objects. A book of poetry from Earth’s greatest bards, his folded robe of meditation, a small potted plant from the third moon of Romulus and, opening a small ornate box made from black Shingat stone of Vulcan-that-Was, were two more objects. Removing them both he studied each for a moment, and then put one of them back in the box, closing the heavy lid. The other he took into his mouth and chewed for a moment, then swallowing it along with the help of a few sips of water. 

The Captain would be pleased.

STSTST

Part III asap


	3. Part III

Evidence of the Figurative Part III  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.   
Warning: Masturbation scene in this chapter (Kirk). Descriptions of the viewing of ‘Vulcan’ pornographic material (again Kirk). Edited but not beta-ed, so be gentle if you find a few typos, I always go in a fix ‘em when I find ‘em.  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

It was Kirk who received the communiqué from Starfleet. Once he finished reading the short missive he sought out the doctor, discreetly carrying a small flask of Orion Whisky in his trouser pocket. 

Bones answered the door wearing casual clothes, an ensemble of grey short-sleeved pull-over and jeans bagging at the knees. Done with doctoring for the day, he waved his captain in. Kirk could see the physician’s uniform hanging on hooks by the door, ready to step into if an emergency arose. 

The Enterprise had two full time physicians working opposite shifts and Kirk knew McCoy trusted Doctor Salmon, but he also knew that Bones liked to be ready for anything. McCoy was a contradiction. Thoroughly educated in all matters of xeno-physiology, specializing in Human, Vulcan and Tellarite but he was also a bit of the old-fashioned sort; old-school-hands-on with head and heart type. His patients adored him.

Well, most of his patients. “Bones,” Kirk said in greeting. “How’s Spock?”

“Pretty well back to whatever his normal is. There was no need to keep him in Med-Bay. He’ll probably slip into one his Vulcan healing trances and be bright eyed and bushy tailed by morning. What’s that?”

Kirk slipped it out of his pocket and fetched two glasses sitting on a decorative shelf above his bed where sat a small collection of choice lead crystal tumblers McCoy had brought with him from Earth. “I thought a night-cap might be a good way to close out a very weird day.”

McCoy took a seat at his work-desk and Kirk sat opposite, putting his feet up and crossing his ankles. “So,” Kirk started, “Admiral Nogura sent me the Admiralty’s decision about Spock– the verdict.”

McCoy took a swig of the amber liquid and breathed through the burn as it slid down his throat. It was very good whisky. “Did he?”

“Mm-hmm - yup.” Kirk kept his eyes trained on his ship’s CMO and friend. “Spock is off the hook. The evidence presented by the prosecution team was not convincing due to some...” Kirk tossed Bones a pointed look, “tardy medical-related testimony by the accused’s physician.”

“Oh, yeah, I think did write a letter. Now I remember.” Bones scratched his chin thoughtfully, “Like you said - weird day.”

Kirk let his second sip of the fiery liquid linger in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How much did you have to lie?”

“I’m a medical professional Captain. I have ethical standards not to mention a Hippocratic Oath to preserve and abide by.” McCoy drained his glass and shook his head. “Not very much.” He shrugged.

“Did you let him know?”

“In the morning. Thought I’d let our residence elf sleep. He’s been looking like shit lately.” Biting his lip, McCoy looked at his captain. 

“Is that your official diagnosis?”

McCoy just looked at his captain and licked his lips and then asked as a sigh escaped his lips, “Did you really think it would be that simple? ‘Go find your humanity Spock, and then lie’...like it would be that easy.”

Kirk still felt like shit about it. He rubbed his hair and blinked to clear the fatigue from his eyes. It was his turn to shrug - self defeated. Yeah, he’d been a bit of a moron. “I guess I did.”

“He’s not human Jim.”

“I know he’s not human Bones. I just...I didn’t think...I wanted Spock...he’s my first officer. He’s my friend...it was stupid.”

Bones stared into his glass and then pushed it across the table for his captain to refill it. “Did you know a Vulcan child’s mental training starts as soon as he or she understands the first word spoken to them?”

Kirk shook his head. “No.”

“And that the rigorous mental training, including meditation, logic exercises, and the stifling – they call it re-channelling for Christ’s sake - of all outwardly expressed emotions continues, in one form or another, through-out their life?”

“No, Bones, I didn’t know that either.” Kirk sighed, now expecting it to turn into a lecture.

Bones nodded. “Spock would not have been able to do it you know...what you asked. He would have failed almost completely. That’s why after he came back from the surface with his ass kicked I drafted my letter to the Admiralty. I did the lying for him.”

“He’s part human.” Kirk said, feeling like he needed to shore up his argument if only to prove to himself that he had not acted without Spock’s best interests in mind when he had foisted that order on his Vulcan First Officer. Surely that counted for something. It counted for something with him. All of Spock counted for something with him. His First counted for a lot in fact. Kirk you idiot!

“Sure. Twenty percent or so and that subjugated and oppressed and denied the light of day because he came from a planet where the orthodox religion is to despise emotion in all its forms. Believe it or not Sarek - Spock’s dad? - is a moderate.”

“I didn’t know there were degrees to their philosophy. What does it mean to be a moderate?

“It means acknowledging that emotions exist, but re-focusing them into mental disciples or logical exercises.”

“Oh.” A moderate Vulcan. Who would have thought? “Any other...” Kirk considered for a second his word choice, and then found it –“denominations?”

“Hell yes - ‘course there are. Besides the Moderates there’s the Orthodox, the Liberals, the Enlightened –that last one are the Vulcans who like to think that someday all of their kind will embrace only the positive emotions which, by the way, will never happen in a cold hell’s chance because they seem to forget that emotions aren’t al-la-carte’ not even for them - and about a half dozen other factions besides, although the loss of Vulcan drastically reduced most of their memberships. On top of that they’ve got the PBRO or the Pure Blood Religious Order who wanted old Vulcan rid of all non-Vulcan residents, and want to keep all non-Vulcans off New Vulcan. They want to keep their species ‘pure’, and the fear of becoming extinct means they’re gaining more and more support at home.”

“Are you saying Spock can’t return to New Vulcan?”

“What else would I be saying, Jim? He’s been officially un-invited to ever join his own people again, not even temporarily, not even just to lend them his magnificent brains – and that makes them idiots in my opinion. It’s like they’re afraid he’ll accidently get his genes mixed up with theirs somehow. It’s pure racist paranoia but Starfleet’s in no position to argue the point. Everyone knows the Vulcans are endangered now and no one wants to ruffle the feathers of a bird whose already been plucked nearly down to its pin-feathers. And the bad news is they might not have enough genetic material to save themselves without resorting to gene manipulation. In short, my friend, the Vulcan species is pretty well fucked.”

“Christ...” Kirk swallowed the amber liquid, letting it burn all the way to his gut. “Anything we can do to help him?”

Bones shook his head, rubbing at his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. His bed was calling him. “Fuck if I know. His biggest problem isn’t whether New Vulcan wants him; it’s whether any Vulcan will want him.”

Kirk frowned and poured the last few drops into his empty tumbler. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Spock’s a Vulcan – mostly anyway – and it’s likely his blood will drive him home eventually – right?”

Kirk stared at his CMO with frankly alarmed curiosity. “What are you talking about? Why would Spock need to go home?”

It was McCoy’s turn to stare. “Jesus, you don’t know do you? You telling me you don’t know about Vulcans?”

“Bones, I’d never met a Vulcan prior to a year ago.”

Bones sat forward, resting his elbows on boney knees. “Shit, well...um...I mean – look this shit used to be totally taboo – no one talks about it, least of all the damn Vulcans but things are different now and I suppose as ship’s captain you’re probably on the Need to Know list now since he is your first officer and all.”

“Tell me what?” 

“Pon Farr. The Vulcan mating thing.” At Kirk’s continued blank look, Bones sighed and threw himself into it. “You’ve heard of Salmon – I’m talking the fish now, not my Second MO. They have to return to the stream where they spawned – it’s instinct, pure and simple, if they don’t make it they don’t get to mate and end up, you know, dying alone in some back-eddy.”

“They die anyway don’t they?” 

“Yes but that’s not the point.”

Kirk’s patience was just about depleted. “Then what is the point?” Enough with the equivocating - this was about Spock. Kirk felt himself go hollow, like his heart and entrails had been scooped out with a big spoon. “Is Spock going to die?”

“Not if I can help it. Listen the point is the fish have an ancient drive to get back to that one stream or die trying.”

Kirk stared at his ship’s doctor. His eyes doubted but his heart (still somehow beating in his chest), got a bit closer to belief. “Are you saying that Spock is – what – no better than a fish? That he can’t fight against this biological drive to go home?”

“No, there are ways to get through the Pon Farr without returning to be among Vulcans – for one thing their home planet doesn’t exist anymore so that’s gotta’ have thrown their internal works out the proverbial window. Hear tell they’re resorting to all kinds of new mental disciplines just to keep the number of suicides to a minimum...”

Kirk felt the blood drain from his face. 

Bones didn’t notice his captain’s sudden deathly pallor and went on. “And Spock’s still young. His time shouldn’t be for probably another few years.”

“So Spock is, sometime in the next few years, going to have to leave the Enterprise and...and...”

“Yup...he’s going to have to link with someone, find a betrothed buddy, someone who’ll be his mate and then do the deed, well I assume these things are usually consummated, if that’s what you mean by ‘and’..”

“What if he doesn’t? What if they won’t let him link? You just said -”

“Jim, no one, least of all me, is going to let that Leprechaun kick it. I’m sure Sarek’s got something in the works. Even an ice-cold Vulcan dad wouldn’t let his son just up and die.”

Kirk did not feel reassured. “Have you asked him about this – I mean whenever this starts...who would he - what about Uhura? Weren’t they-?”

“Broke up about a month ago.”

Kirk felt an answering call at that but it was quickly replaced by fear. “Shit.” But would Uhura have been able to help Spock anyway? From what Bones had just said, it sounded to him like maybe a Vulcan needed another Vulcan. But if that were true then Spock’s dad couldn’t have married his mom. Spock wouldn’t even be alive. “Keep me informed, Bones. You don’t have to tell Spock you’re letting me in on this but...if Spock’s in any sort of danger, I want to know about it.”

“Don’t worry, Jim, we’ll put our heads together and come up with something. Spock’ll be fine.” Bones thrust an index finger the captain’s way. “But no more giving advice about emotions to our resident Vulcan, Captain, sir. Do us all a favor and leave the psychology to the psychologists.”

Kirk nodded but his mind had turned to disturbing visions of Spock beaming away and never coming back, or of dying in Med-Bay while a team of doctors scrambled to stabilize his bodies failing systems all the while his fellow Vulcans did jack shit for one of their own. No, that wouldn’t happen. It can’t happen. 

Bones watched his friend for a moment; the doctor’s older more experienced eyes not failing to catch the worry nestled in Kirk’s usually confident expression. 

He drained the last drops of his glass, leaned back in his chair, and clasped his hands above his head, leaving Kirk to his silent contemplations for the next few minutes, thinking to himself “Well I’ll be damned - the kid’s got it bad for the green blooded elf-man.”

STSTST

“Mister Spock, any sign of the villagers?”

The Vulcan officer checked his Tricorder and nodded. “Yes, Captain. There is a large party moving our way. Several hundred meters distance. The Creeche greeting party should be in our sight at any moment.”

Kirk looked around. The Creeche’s planet was pleasant enough but Kirk was sick of Starfleet arranging these ‘friendly intro’s to the new alien species’ meetings. He was anxious to get some non-diplomatic exploration done. What, for example, were the Romulans doing about now? He sighed. “Come on,” and started to walk over to meet the crowd of strangers that soon appeared, all dressed in what appeared to be woven sheets of black cloth wrapped around them in a slightly reminiscent style of Roman togas. 

Not much for fashion – this planet, was what crossed Kirk’s mind as five of the tallest individuals broke off from the group and approached, waving their hands in stiff, little up-and-down jerks of their wrists.

Local version of hello, Kirk surmised. He thought he had read as much in the report of the planet’s inhabitants. In truth, he had only skimmed through that part, so bored was he of these meet-and-greets that it was giving him a rash in unmentionable places.

He also knew – a part he had read carefully – that this people’s culture dictated that what-ever number of strangers approached, they must meet them in equal numbers. ‘Balance of power/balance of trust’ is what the translators had come up with. In a galaxy with the dangers they had already encountered, Kirk supposed it made sense. “Greetings, I’m -”

But Kirk did not get out another word before the alien closest to him whipped out a weapon he didn’t recognise and pointed it, not at him, but the security officer standing to his right. When a beam shot out from the end of the weapon, that officer disappeared in a cloud of meat-smelling vapour. Kirk actually felt the spray of tiny droplets of human on his face. He took a step back and whipped out his own weapon, firing at the nearest sheet-draped alien, who fell to the ground twitching.

Spock wasn’t as lucky as he’d had to drop his Tricorder first before reaching for his own weapon, and was too late to aim it before it was knocked from his hand by a burly looking fellow holding a large, curved, highly sharpened sword. He swung the weapon in an arc that came straight down toward Spock’s head, but the Vulcan knew a thing or two about sword play and managed to dodge the blade with a rare inch to spare, knocking the sword form the other’s hand as he did so. 

Out of the corner of his eye Kirk saw the thing sail through the air and bounce off the hardened ground twenty meters away, well out of the reach, at least for a moment or two, of any of their attackers. In the next second, Spock and his assailant two were in hand-to-hand combat the likes Kirk had not only seen, but himself felt. He knew that Spock packed a punch that would fell most humans – and keep them down - with a single blow.

But this big fellow was holding his own. Unfortunately the few seconds Kirk took to assess his First Officer’s well-being meant he had taken his own attention away from his own battle, and the tall fellow with the snarling teeth and exceedingly bad breath got the upper hand. Kirk suddenly found himself on the ground with the gargantuan on top of him, trying to squeeze the life form his throat.

In the very next instant he felt his attempted murderer’s weight leave his chest and the guy’s body fly through the air and land some fifteen meters away. Kirk heard the alien’s bones break upon impact. His attacker groaned but did not rise again. The rest of the party of meet-and-greet-and-beat-ers fled in a confusing jumble of flailing limbs and shouts of sorry bravado, all the while their hide-sandals ate up dust. Within moments they had disappeared from sight.

Kirk got to his feet and brushed himself off, sheathing his weapon and looking around to assess who was okay and who was not. His security officer was staggering to his feet and all of the landing party appeared pretty much intact.

But what next caught his eye was Spock striding with purpose over to the fallen alien and bending over him. Before anyone could say a word Spock grabbed the guy by his cotton tunic and shook him like a child’s rattle. “Do you know what I would have done to you had you harmed our captain?” He snarled.

Kirk wasn’t sure he had heard right. “Mister Spock..?”

But the Vulcan was not hearing anything and growled once more into the man’s face, his teeth bared in a twisted, violent grin, inches from the other’s bloody lips. The Vulcan’s black eyes - the pupils blown until there was almost no white sclera left to see – looked as untamed and fearsome as a mad wolverine. 

“Do you!? I would have broken your neck like a Cardassian Vole, like a Ceti eel – I would have killed you – torn you apart with my bare hands - and been glad for it!”

“Mister Spock!” 

Kirk pulled Spock’s hands away from around the prone man’s neck and Spock actually resisted for a few seconds, trying to shake Kirk off, determined to finish the job.

But then the Vulcan seemed to come back to himself and his hands relaxed, finally loosening their grip. Spock swallowed, shook his head as though to dispel the distasteful display he had just enacted and then allowed Kirk to lead him a few meters away. “Spock, what the hell..?” Kirk whispered in one pointed ear, not noticing the very un-Spock-like shiver that it elicited from the Vulcan. Kirk frowned at his officer’s continued muteness. “I’m fine, Spock, come on, I’m just fine.”

But Spock did not appear to hear his captain for a moment. In fact he had his eyes closed and seemed to be in the midst of some sort of internal struggle. As though he needs or was.., Kirk thought, as though Spock, logical son of the logical planet of Old-Vulcan had just...totally lost control!

Kirk cupped both his hands under Spock’s chin and turned the Vulcan’s head so he was looking at his commanding officer, if not yet with his eyes opened. “Spock...” Now Kirk was getting a bit concerned. “Hey...I’m right here...I’m okay...I’m right here...”

To Kirk’s shock, and fascination, he watched as a single errant tear escaped from somewhere inside Spock’s right eye socket and meandered way down as far as his pale cheek. Then another followed, and another, slowly, leisurely, as though this was the first time they had ever seen light of day and were each taking their time because they somehow knew it might never be repeated.

Using his thumbs Kirk surreptitiously wiped them away before anyone else could see. He knew how humiliated Spock would be if anyone witnessed him actually crying in public. For all their claims to being ruled by logic Vulcans could be highly illogical – and occasionally emotional - about their own body’s physical reactions to stress, although no one would ever get one of them to admit it. 

Kirk smiled a bit, trying to put his first officer at ease and then dropped his hands to his side when he realised he still had them cupping his first officer’s now drying face. “Hey, come on, we’ve got some injured to get back to the ship, and I’ve a call to make to Starfleet to tell them to re-evaluate these asshole’s entry request into The Federation.”

Spock seemed to collect himself at that and nodded, following his captain back to where the landing party were waiting - and staring curiously at the ship’s Vulcan while trying not to look like they were staring - for beam-out.

STSTST

“He completely lost it Bones.”

McCoy fiddled with hypo-sprays, filling one with antibiotics, another with pain reducers and a third with a mild sedative. The injured from the landing party (other than the man who had been vaporised), were few and those mostly scrapes and bruises that were going to look nasty by next breakfast. One security officer had a gash on his upper arm.

And then there was Spock, sitting off away from the others behind a partition in Med-Bay scrubs, waiting for his own examination.

Kirk looked around at the nurses bustling here and there on silent feet. No one was watching or listening in. Still he kept his voice low because of some nearby Vulcan ears. “He wanted to kill that Creeche.” Every so often he glanced over to the partition where beyond sat his inexplicably uncharacteristic Vulcan first officer who had tried to murder a total stranger. Circumstances be damned, Spock would never resort to such violence, at least not the Spock he had come to know over the last fourteen months.

Through the partition Kirk could see the faint shadow of the Vulcan officer sitting cross-legged on the exam table, waiting his turn to be cleared for duty.

Kirk said softly “He’s not cleared for duty.”

“You’re damn right he’s not.” Bones answered while taking up two of the hypo-sprays and handing them to a passing male nurse. “For Gobel and Haughland.” The nurse nodded and went about following McCoy’s instructions. The third Hypo McCoy took up himself, explaining to Kirk in a hushed voice “This one’s for our Vulcan friend. I don’t know what’s up with him, Jim, but I’m keeping him in Med-Bay and sedated until I find out.”

“He’s not going to like it.”

“Don’t care whether he likes it or not and by the way it’ll be easier of I can tell him it’s an order from you.”

Kirk crossed his arms. “It is.” Trying not to let the worry show on his face for the benefit of the rest of his injured party, Kirk crossed his arms and spoke with as neutral a voice as he could muster. “Let me know what you find out.” 

“Yup.” Bones waited until the captain had exited the Med-Bay and then walked to his most enigmatic patient of the month. “Spock,” He used his sternest “I’m the doctor and you will damn well do what I say when you’re in my Medical Bay” voice, we’re going to start by giving you a mild sedative and then we’ll be doing the whole works on you; blood, outputs, heart function, brain-function -”

“I do not require a sedative doctor McCoy, there is no need.”

“By the Bio-bed read-outs your heart rate is elevated – which scares the shit outta’ me ‘cause your so-called Vulcan normal HR sits at about 249 BPM - on top of that your respiration’s entirely out-of-whack, so you need what I say you need Mister Spock. Now lie down.”

Bones watched as Spock obeyed. “Now is there anything you’d like to tell me before we proceed? Anything that might curtail the number of tests that your damn Vulcan stubbornness is forcing me to run?”

Spock blinked up at the ceiling. “There may be a possibility...”

“Oh? And what possibility is that?”

“But it is unlikely, as it only occurred in Vulcan legends and myth...”

“What Mister Spock?”

“I...may have ingested some...Ha’rat leaf.”

Bones stared at him. “You mean you ingested some Be’isah root and Ha’rat leaf.”

“No.”

“No?” McCoy rubbed a hand over his face. “Tell me you did not take just the Ha’rat leaf because to do that would not only be illogical and stupid, it would be dangerous.”

“The captain ordered me to -”

“He did not order you to be an idiot!” McCoy tossed the sedative on a nearby tray. “God’s-sakes-Lord-Almighty! The captain was giving you the worst possible advice you green-blooded excuse for precocity! Christ!”

Spock could not help but wince at the doctor’s volume. “I could see no other way of fulfilling the captain’s orders.”

McCoy turned away and grabbed another hypo-spray, filling it from a small bottle of medicine. “This ought to take care of the worst of your immediate symptoms - and by that I mean your emotional freaking out at the scariest possible times - but the stuff in your system just going to have to wear off - shouldn’t take more than a few weeks.” With more force than necessary, McCoy sent the pressurized medicine into the fleshy part of Spock’s upper arm and then slammed the device down on the tray along with its twin. “Jesus, Spock, surely you knew the possible effects of eating Ha’rat leaf without its counter-balance?”

Spock had known. But at the time the desire to please his captain had been almost overpowering and at the time he had been hesitant to seek out the reasons underlying his desire. Later all he could recall was the powerful urge to obey his captain’s order. Had he taken both the Ba’eisa root and the Ha’rat leaf together, they would simply have assisted him in reaching a deeper level of meditation but such natural aids were meant for the deep healing arts. He had resisted using either at the time simply because they were some of the last in existence. But his curious urgency to please his captain had over-ridden his reason, or so it now seemed. Spock knew his behavior had been very un-Vulcan and even for him, a part human Vulcan, very unorthodox. 

Instead of voicing any of this Spock inclined his head to the doctor’s last question, and Bones pressed his lips together. McCoy looked angry and possibly was – very angry in fact, but Spock sensed it was because of his concern over the ship’s first officer’s erratic behavior. He supposed he could not blame McCoy. All of this was, after all, his own fault.

“You’re on bed rest ‘till further notice Spock. Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything except quiet recreational activities and do not by any measure, darken my doorstep for at least a week. If I decide you’re doing well by then, I’ll see about reducing the restrictions I’m about to slap all over your schedule. And eat something for Christ’s sake. Three meals a day or I’ll have security drag you down here and give it to you intravenously.”

When McCoy walked away, Spock sat up from the table, swung his legs to the floor and proceeded to don his uniform once more and left Medical Bay. 

When he next looked up he had arrived at, not his own quarters but the Captains. He chimed the bell and waited.

“Come in Spock.”

Spock entered. “How did you know it was me, sir?”

“Bones just talked to me.”

Spock nodded and looked around the cabin. Kirk wondered if the Vulcan thought it was easier than looking his captain in the eye.

“He also told me what you did.” Kirk stood and walked over to his First Officer, placing his hands on Spock’s arms. “And why. So again I’m sorry I sent you off on that wild goose chase. It was short-sighted of me.”

“It is of no consequence to the ship captain. I am here to submit myself for disciplinary action.”

“Bones already told me about the restrictions he put on you until you’re, you know, yourself again.”

“I mean the disciplinary action regarding my actions on Creeche.”

“Oh? And the reason being?"

"I attacked a citizen of Creeche. I caused him severe bodily harm."

 

"Only because he was about to cause me bodily harm."

 

Spock stared for a few seconds at his commanding officer, somewhat perplexed. "Captain, have you forgotten what occurred on the planet?"

 

"Nope."

 

"I attacked a Creechen with intent to kill."

 

"Intent to kill is debatable and you only attacked him in my defense."

 

“My actions were excessive, sir."

 

"Only in the opinion of some."

 

"I could have killed him."

 

“But you didn't."

 

"Discipline is required."

 

"Okay, on top of what McCoy had ordered, I'll confine you to quarters for a while if it'll make you feel better."

 

"This is not about feelings."

 

"Uh huh - right." Kirk studied his friend for a moment. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it? My being attacked."

 

"It is only natural it disturb me, you are the captain of the Enterprise and therefore your safety is paramount."

 

“We’ve been on other missions before Spock; you've never attacked anyone - not like this.”

 

Spock shook his head a bit, as though trying to shake the confusion from his hair. “Circumstances may vary widely, sir, and although your safety if crucial to the Enterprise and her crew, in these last two instances my actions have been un-professional in the extreme.”

 

“Extreme is a harsh word.”

 

“My point, captain, is this now makes the second time that I have acted inappropriately towards another in your behalf while not...myself. Starfleet will require action on your part."  
“Only if they know about it, and no one’s going to talk unless I ask them to.”

“But that is un-ethical.”

“Again - debatable. Look, Spock, you saved my life for the second time in as many weeks. Seems to be a habit with you and I can’t see it as inappropriate when it keeps me alive.” Kirk let go of his friend’s arms and took a seat, gesturing to a chair opposite his. Spock followed and sat down. 

“So it bothers you when I’m in danger." Kirk mused with a shadow of a smile.

"You are the captain and you ...if I may say so sir, you attend to more landing parties than is strictly necessary for a ship’s captain."

"You'd rather I didn’t." It was not a question.

"You put yourself in danger constantly.”

“And it bothers you."

"You are the captain." As though that explained his position perfectly.

“Suppose it wasn’t against regulations? Would it still bother you?"

“Bother? It would be un-acceptable.”

“Why?”

“I do not understand the question.”

“Pretty simple question. Why would it still bother you?”

Spock let out a very human, if tiny, sigh, at his captain’s emotional word choice. “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“See? That’s a perfectly good reason to defend me.”

“Captain I find your cavalier attitude to a clear violation of Starfleet protocol – and to your own well being - most disturbing. The Admiralty -” 

"Oh - speaking of that - there isn't going to be any verdict Mister Spock.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No verdict; or rather the charge against you was dismissed.”

 

“How did this happen?"

 

“I guess they changed their minds.” With a little help from a friend.

 

“It seems highly unlikely.”

 

He wasn’t certain precisely what Spock meant but decided it wasn’t worth the headache to ask. “As unlikely as my first officer defending me and then turning himself in for discipline? Look Spock, I know you're very tired and you've been under a great deal of on-going stress. Bones wants you to take some time off and I agree with him. And as for my well being – I’ve got you watching my ass don’t I? Come on, stop worrying.”

Spock blinked once and twice, having some difficulty keeping up with his captain’s rapid changes of topic. “Very well, sir.”

Kirk smiled at him, a wide, genuine grin. “Good. Maybe we can have a few games of chess this week while you’re off?”

“I would be happy to, Captain.”

“And maybe you’ll start calling me Jim in off-duty hours like I asked you to?” 

Spock tilted his head just a fraction as he considered this. To Spock it was still a breach of protocol, but then so was disobeying a direct order from his commanding officer. “Of course...Jim. I shall try to remember to do so.”

STSTST

Kirk saw Spock a couple of times over the next several days after his own duty shifts had ended; a game of chess, a lunch together once, but little else. He hoped the Vulcan was taking the doctor’s advice to heart and actually relaxing. Or meditating or trance-healing or playing logic board-games whatever it was that Vulcans did when they needed to take a load off.

 

The longer Kirk didn’t hear any reports of particularly odd behavior from his Vulcan friend, the better he felt but he still needed to get his mind off his still not-quite-right Vulcan First Officer. McCoy had long informed him of Spock’s wholly uncharacteristic foray into drugged emotionalism, explaining it in his colourful way. “The damn fool ate a Ha’rat leaf without its counter-balance. That’s like you and me doing a month’s worth of the Klingon equivalent of Medical Grade-A Prakus Moon Marijuana in a single sitting only our mind’d be too damn fucked up to notice that it was fucked up. In short, captain, we’d feel like we were okay only we’d be anything but.” Kirk breathed a sigh of relief at McCoy’s assurances that the Vulcan would return to his “Vulcan-green-normal-pain-in-my-ass-self” in a few weeks.

But he needed to do some relaxing too and despite McCoy’s prognosis about Spock, he could not help but still harbor worry over the Vulcan’s odd behavior. However a good work-out always helped ease his mind. If fact it was just what the proverbial doctor ordered. 

Only Kirk did not expect, as he entered the gymnasium, to see Spock there as well getting his medically ordered ‘rest’ by conducting a small class of Vulcan defensive arts techniques.

Dressed in black trousers that looked to be made of silk, snug on his hips but progressively looser as they draped lower on his legs, ending is wide cuffs just above his ankles. The ensemble reminded Kirk of something vaguely oriental.

And apparently it was customary for a Vulcan to do this exercise bare-foot as Spock was wearing nothing on his feet. 

And, to Kirk’s astonishment, he was also shirtless.

As Kirk wandered closer to the group he saw that Spock wasn’t entirely shoe-less but was wearing soft leather cups designed to fit over only his toes, strapped in place with thin leather laces tied elaborately around some deceptively delicate looking, lovely ankles. Ankles Kirk knew that, however fine-boned in appearance, were as strong as forged steel.

But it was the shirtless bit that kept drawing the captain’s eye. He stayed back behind the crowd, so to not break Spock’s concentration as the Vulcan showed helmsman Hikaru Sulu, a martial arts aficionado, how to throw an opponent in such a way as to hardly move one’s body. Most of the women spectators, and not a few of the men, were also watching the Vulcan’s demonstration with more than a passing interest, and Kirk suspected it wasn’t just the fighting moves that was keeping them there, gawking like school-yard pubescents.

Kirk’s eyes followed the Vulcan’s body like a hawk would its prey. Spock was fit and toned as Kirk would have expected for a Starfleet officer but, for all his slimness, the Vulcan carried a layer of fat over those muscles and sinew - of perfectly logical thickness of course – in other words just enough to keep himself in tip-top optimal health.

It did not escape Kirk’s notice that it lent a surface softness to his first officer’s youthful skin that looked downright consumable. Spock had a smattering of equally soft and lovely looking hair in an inverted triangle on his chest, some finer stuff on his arms and, just below his navel and above the knotted belt of his special trousers, a thin line of dark hair running down toward the lower regions of his narrow pelvis and disappearing from view.

Kirk swallowed the sticky lump lodged in his throat and beat a hasty retreat to his quarters, locking the door afterward and leaning against it with his head tucked into his arms, trying to still the pounding of his heart and altogether ignore the stiff, throbbing creature coming to life in his uniform pants. “Fuck...”

Yes, that’s what I want, his penis kept urging. Kirk knew there was nothing for it but to give it a hand, so-to-speak, and took to his chair by his computer. He knew crew-members indulged in on-line chatter and other strictly forbidden computer below-the-board activities, including some very against-the-rules soft-porn-sharing. But Starfleet mostly over-looked such violations as long as the ship’s data-bases were kept entirely separate in every way from the unofficial ones. Besides, two to five years in space and people got ...lonely. Those whose circumstances allowed little opportunity for ‘company’ needed some sort of outlet for their frustrations.

Kirk only had to look a little bit deeper than usual to bring up some soft porn featuring various species. Orion girls usually sufficed for him and his finger almost hit the appropriate choice when he paused. He decided this time, to look a little further, not really expecting any results. Vulcans were incredibly private when it came to their sexuality and he doubted anyone would have managed to convince a Vulcan to pose for any shots of his naked posterior or any other part for anyone for any amount of money.

He was right. There was nothing.

But then there were always the computer generated stuff. 

Kirk did a quick search and located a likely sight, punching in some fairly specific parameters. The second offering that popped up was...

Kirk held his breath – it computer generated, yes, but sweet holy god... 

He was a long limbed youthful Vulcan with dark hair cut in the usual severe Vulcan style which, oddly enough, seemed to suit almost all of its pointed-eared wearers. A sprinkling of body hair was strategically situated right where it ought to be in a lovely inverted triangle between small, dark nipples. Beautiful legs bent in angles of natural grace, deliciously splayed, head thrown back, long neck exposed, elbows propping up his smooth torso, one hand, its fingers spread as though in secret summons next to the pale iliac crest of the pelvis beneath the skin where it was thinnest– the entire portrait was an uncensored, stainless sacrifice; a sweet, tender offering of flesh and sex; the perfectly beautiful body of a young Vulcan male. 

But for the discreet label below that claimed it was an artistic rendering, it could be Spock any day of the week. Lying there, naked as the day he was born, long muscles on a long frame, flat stomach gently wash-boarded in divine abdominals and below laying serenely against a pair of plump, firm testicles, a long, silken penis already half hard as though the Vulcan on the screen somehow knew that the eyes of the famous Captain James T. Kirk were upon him, were raking over his vulnerable flesh. The lush Vulcan was writhing with an indescribable need for the captain to put his hands on his body offered up, if Kirk would only – please God! – hurry and descend into him like a god to its spring lamb. Kirk licked his lips. The skin was flawless; the beautiful sculptured face was turned toward him, mouth slack and open just enough to appear to be breathing just for Jim and only for Jim. 

Suddenly Kirk’s heart begged to be let out of its cage. And his dick was having designs on the same, pleading desperately for a place to sprout. 

Kirk pushed his loose work-out pants and his briefs to just below his hungry cock, letting it spring free. But he kept his eyes on the naked portrait of all that was gorgeous and Vulcan, swallowing thickly at the powerful effect, that even he hadn’t any idea how tremendous it would be, at just seeing Spock naked – or this fake Spock-resembling Vulcan youth. It was obscene how hard his cock was.

Kirk touched himself.

The Vulcan’s dark upswept brows spoke tender virgin; he was young but curious; innocent but asking. His big beautiful eyes, dark brown and wet-looking, the pupils blown with desire, and everything in surrender, everything perfect, perfect, fucking perfect! And now Spock was asking for him, needing him, wanting him, anguished for him, aching for him – heartbroken that Kirk had not already claimed him with his hands and lips and cock in full because he was for and only for Jim Kirk. The youthful lips said please, they begged in fact; take me, want me, save me, love me, I’m yours Jim, please Jim, don’t you want me captain, please fuck me Captain, please captain, give it to me my wonderful Jim, split me open, I need it. Can’t you see I need it?? Harder! Faster! Fuck me, Jim....fuck-me-fuck-me - FUCK-ME!

Four pulls was all Kirk needed after that and –

“J-E-E-Z-Z—UZ-Z!” 

Kirk came all over his hand in thick creamy stripes half-way up his cotton shirt, making a mess of it. A bit landed on his chin. 

When his penis demanded he stop tugging and his brain came back on-line, he leaned over until his forehead touched the desk-top. Oh Christ. He had just masturbated to a sexual fantasy of his Vulcan First Officer. And it was then that he realised he was in very big trouble because all he could think about was when he might do something even better but for real and while his body was pressed up against the subject in question.

Kirk moaned in despair. “Oh God I am so totally fucked.”

 

STSTST

Part IV asap


	4. Part IV

Evidence of the Figurative Part IV  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.  
Angst ahead!  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Kirk avoided all his usual off duty activities over the next week, embarrassed at his own memories. Jerking off at porn-buoyed thoughts of his first officer naked and gagging for it. He shook his head at himself as he read his correspondence from home. Mom was going for her Captains stripes – good for you mom – while trying to reconcile with that idiot again – what the fuck mom? – But the rest of it scrolled by evoking little interest for its receiver. 

And outside their often shared hours on bridge duties, he had not run into Spock even by accident for the last two days. Was the Vulcan avoiding him too? Had Spock sensed something after Kirk’s regrettable lapse in personal restraint? He felt the heat spread across his cheeks again at the memory. Maybe the Vulcan had sensed telepathically Kirk’s physical desires toward him? If that’s the case I may as well hang myself right now.

Vulcans were telepaths. But did it work outside of actual touch? Kirk shook off his doubt and uncertainty. Fuck it. He and Spock had to work together. He would go see him right now and...

 

And just be Jim Kirk and his first officer would be his logical self because he’d be, well - Spock, and everything would be fine. Yes.

Fine. 

Kirk made a detour to an auxiliary mess hall and ordered up a plate of vegetables and fruit for Spock and a synthetic chicken sandwich for himself. McCoy was always complaining that Spock didn’t eat enough so here was a good excuse to pay a visit to the Vulcan and get some chow into him. McCoy would be happy and Spock would be back to normal and it was all going to be just fine. 

Kirk chimed for entrance to Spock’s quarters. After a moment, when he’d received no answer and, as it was unlocked, he entered and walked to the central focus of the room – Spock’s work desk with its computer and neatly arranged PADDs. He placed the food down and turned to look around, finding himself suddenly standing nose to nose with his whisper quiet first officer. Startled, Kirk stepped back a step. “”Jeeze, Spock, warn a guy will ya’?”

Spock did not spare a word to his captain but his eyes – dark, unblinking stormy eyes - narrowed and looked down to focus on the tray of food Kirk had brought. 

“What is this?” He asked and Kirk felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the low pitched timber of fury in it.

“Just some lunch. Figured you oughta’ eat something before McCoy sends out his goons.” Kirk knew he was trying too hard for pleasant and casual. And he could also immediately see that it was not being welcomed by the Vulcan who was acting even more taciturn than usual. 

“This is unacceptable.” Spock whispered, the words coming out in a pipe of strangled Standard but with a shadowy inflection of something else, as though his throat was slowly forgetting how to form proper terran words.

“Well, I know it’s not the Ritz but-“

“Why did you bring this to me?” Spock barked. “I made no request of you.” 

Kirk felt his own ire rise at the tone. “I’m trying to help Spock. The usual thing would be to be accommodating or at least not...not entirely ungrateful.” He remembered that his friend had not been himself lately. That he had lost his planet, his mother and his place among his people. Under those stresses and what McCoy assured him was the dwindling effects of the Vulcan herb Spock had ingested in some last resort attempt to obey Kirk’s order to get in touch with his feelings – yeah, good one Kirk – fucking brilliant! - No one would be at their peak. His flash of anger vanished faster than it appeared. “I’d just like to, I dunno’, help somehow, that’s all.”

Spock stepped back. “Your help is not required.” 

His voice was still tight with disapproval, his shoulders high with tension. His eyes...his eyes burned with ire and something else Kirk couldn’t quite...humiliation? 

“And, it is undignified for a man to serve another man”, Spock took up the tray and hurled it at the wall, sending food and containers in all directions, “who is not his!”

Kirk stared, dumbfounded at the mess and at his First standing there with his sides heaving with constrained fury, the Vulcan’s fists actually shaking with rage.

Then the Vulcan did something else. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on Kirk’s, as though he were considering getting physical and not in a good way. “Spock!” Kirk mustered his most compelling command voice, and Spock faltered in his advance, then he blinked and stared at Kirk, shaking his head, his face pale with shock and shame at his own behavior toward his commanding officer, his eyes wide and contrite; his entire demeanor awash with stunned disbelief at his own actions.

“C-captain, please...please forgive me,” He took two steps back and turned aside, no longer looking at his captain, “I-I do not know what came over me.”

Kirk let out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s okay...you...you haven’t been yourself.” Like, seriously fucking far from yourself. “Are you certain that herb you took is wearing off? Maybe you took more than you realised.”

Spock swallowed heavily, his throat works moving up and down as though he’d had a golf ball lodged in it. “Yes...that must be it.”

Imprecise words. Spock sounded...uncertain, his logic failing him. Kirk had to get Bones into this, or go talk to him again. Despite the doctor’s assurances that Spock would be rid of the herb’s effects any day now, things still weren’t right by a long shot. “Spock, get some rest.” He waved a hand toward the turned over bowls and litter of fruit pieces on the insulated carpeting. “I’ll call maintenance to clean this up.”

Spock looked up quickly at the idea. He actually flinched. “No! I mean, that...that will not be necessary.”

“Spock -”

“Please, Jim, you are correct, I merely need rest. I will tend to the mess. And I must call my father. Sarek is expecting me within moments.”

It was a gentle dismissal. “Okay, Spock, fine. We’ll let things be...for now.” He hated to do it but “And you’re off duty –even light duties - until further notice.” Kirk raised a hand at Spock’s almost protest. “Just indulge me alright? Let a captain be worried about his First.”

Spock looked at the floor. “I regret causing you worry captain.”

“You’re my friend and I’m human so I worry. Call it a weakness.”

Spock nodded absently, looking at his desk now and his computer through which he would make his call to New Vulcan. Kirk bit his lip. Nothing about this was okay but he didn’t think right now was the time to push for answers. “My best to your father.”

“Thank you.” Spock waited until Kirk left before sending out his request to the ship’s personal communication hub for a link to New Vulcan. 

His father’s face appeared. “Spock. I was not expecting this communication for another month.”

“I am aware, but we may be in deep space at that time.” His heart beat faster at his father’s expression – Vulcans did have them though they were hard to spot unless one was familiar with the Vulcan in question, and Spock knew all of his father’s expressions. This one seemed to denote...apology. “What is it, father?”

“The Vulcan Ruling Council has chosen a new mate for me. Her name is Thy’ssa. She is of a good family and sound genetics. She has agreed it is a good match.”

Images of his beautiful human mother popped into Spock’s mind without warning or control. Her gentle eyes and kind smile always there for him; ready to listen, to advise with loving intent, to hold him, to pet his hair...things he will never have again. “I am gratified you will be able to contribute to the growth of New Vulcan.” The words were an appropriate offer (and they had somehow left his mouth without him making preparation to do so. Inexplicable they had somehow escaped of their own volition. What he had wished to say would have been polluted things deeply buried, things kept out of sight under lock and key, and which would have been smeared in human feelings of betrayal and rage and might have ended his already tenuous relationship with his father once and for all), even though Sarek’s eyebrow twitched at the emotional connotations of the word ‘gratified’.

“Yes. But such a union brings consequences as you might have already surmised.”

Spock could not help it; his guts screamed in pain, his mind denied it, his eyes threatened tears, his throat closed up like a stopped drain. NO-NO-NO-NO-NO! But all his logic and training and his forever-and-ever cobbled Vulcan lips could do was say “Yes father.”

But Sarek spoke the words anyway, just to be certain it was clear what had to be. “You will not be allowed to carry my Kahtra when my time comes to die.” He said, watching his son through the screen for any hint of emotion, and finding none. “That now passes to she who will become my wife.”

“Yes father.” Spock said while his own Kahtra wailed, its screams echoing across the bereft desert of his mind while his heart inside him began to bleed.

“Do you have any request of me my son, before I take my leave?”

Spock knew there was only one thing he required now. It itself was also a humiliation but since he was now denied the one last thread that tied him to his race, he could at least salvage something. ‘Yes, there is.”

STSTST

Kirk entered Med-Bay and waited for Bones to finish with a patient. Chekov was lying on a bio-bed with his forearm under a bone regenerator. The machine was softly clicking as it did its job of hurrying along the initial mending of the broken ends. Bones was scolding him. “Next time wait for your instructor. Damn Vulcan fighting arts are not meant for humans.”

Pavel protested his innocence in his lilting Russian accent. “But he showed us a lot of moves, we were just practicing.” 

“Well practice with gear on at least.” Bones snapped, then muttered, “Damn kids on a ship in space – what the hell was Starfleet thinking?”

McCoy noticed Kirk finally. “Well? What’s wrong with you?”

Kirk smiled. “Nothing. Can we have a word?”

“S’pose so. What about?”

Kirk motioned with his head for the doctor to join him in his office. “It’s about Spock; I don’t think that herb stuff he took is wearing off.”

“It should be.” bones countered. It’s been two weeks.”

“But he’s acting...odd. Still. Emotional, and yes, I’m not imagining it. He was angry a few minutes ago, with me - really angry. I thought he was going to hit me.” He rubbed at his neck, “Maybe I did imagine that part.” 

McCoy took a seat and Kirk did the same, facing each other across McCoy’s desk that was littered with Padd’s – reports, Kirk figured, medicals...being a doctor for a ship of four hundred people was no easy job. “I could call him in; check him over again if you want. Maybe offer him something to help him sleep.” Bones reasoned. “He might have taken more of that shit than he admitted to me although the levels in his blood and tissues were not off the chart or anything. But he might still be suffering from that combined with the stress he’s been under, hell, that we’ve all been under. Starfleet lost an entire generation of good officers and graduate cadets all in one shot with Nero. We’re all wearing more than one hat these days.”

“He was under stress then, and he was doing better than he is now.”

“Delayed reaction? Vulcans generally bottle all that stuff up and Spock’s worse than most. I think he tries to overcompensate because of human parts and makes himself sick because of it.”

“Maybe. But would you take a look at him – I mean in his quarters? I’d like to save him the trip down here; he was...a bit of a mess.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have to leave his quarters. God forbid he has to show his face out here with us weak, emotional humans.” McCoy watched a bit of the tension leave his captain’s shoulders. “Listen, Jim, you...do you? Are you and Spock...?”

Kirk thought he understood and his face blanched. “No. Of course not, he’s...Spock’s my friend. There’s nothing...there’s nothing.”

McCoy didn’t appear to believe it. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s fallen for him, you know. Brilliant, mysterious Vulcan. I mean Uhura...”

“Yeah, but that’s over.”

“You do realise that you sound relieved.”

Kirk mashed fingers into his eyes. “Bones...”

“I’m just saying, Spock may not be my cup of tea but you could do worse. Not that it’s be easy. In fact it’d be a right bitch. He is four-fifths Vulcan and that’s a whole other dimension of hard –if you’ll pardon the double-entendre’ - when it comes to sex -”

“Christ - Bones – stop.” Kirk held up two hands palm out. “Just stop. There’s just...nothing, okay? Nothing. Just help him please.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it. But if you ever need advice...”

“I don’t need advice.”

“Fine, fine but denial is a river in Egypt, Jimmy my boy.”

Kirk pushed himself up from is chair. “Just go help your patient doctor.”

STSTST

“Spock? You gonna’ let me in or do I have to make it a medical order?” Bones didn’t feel like tip-toeing around the sour Vulcan just then. “Come on, Jim wants me to check you out and so do I – don’t make me scan you through the damn door.”

The door slid aside and Bones entered –

To find Spock on his knees by his computer desk, one hand holding himself up like if he hadn’t grabbed onto the edge he might have ended up sprawled in a puddle all over the floor.

“What the fuck Spock?” Bones dashed to his side and started waving his medical tricorder in his face. 

Spock pushed it away as though a fly. “Get out!”

“The hell I will.” McCoy punched a button on Spock’s desk control panel. “McCoy to Doctor Salmon, I need a team in Commander Spock’s quarters -”

Spock snatched the tricorder out of McCoy’s hands and crushed it in one fist, his face turning greyish green with the effort.

“Spock! What the hell is the matter with you? You’re sick, you need help.”

“I am not sick.” Spock insisted, gasping for every breath, like staying alive became more and more difficult each moment that passed, and dropping the crushed remains of the instrument from his bloodied palm. “And I do not need your medical team, doctor McCoy.”

Bones heard the anguish in his voice and paused with the hypo in his hand. It contained enough sedative to knock the Vulcan out for hours. “You better start making sense Spock, real fast, or you’re going to be carried to Med-Bay like it or not.” 

“I am not sick.” Spock whispered, staring at the floor and shaking his head from side to side, his normally ramrod straight, dignified form now crumpled like a scrap of paper. “I am no longer Vulcan.”

Bones felt a chill go up his spine. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course you’re Vulcan.”

“No, you do not understand. My father, his Kahtra, I am no longer permitted, there is nothing left...” After his conversation with Sarek Spock had sensed the final gossamer thread, his very last link to his people, the sole connection that still held him to his Vulcan family and his heritage, the link that had already been stretched to its very limit, snap. “It is denied me now.”

Bones swallowed; his heart racing. “What, Spock?” He asked, realising that his patient’s distress was not merely physical. This was not some Vulcan herbal remnant still coursing through his system, this was something else entirely. This was new. This was Spock in distress like he had never witnessed until now. “What’s denied you?”

Spock looked up. There were tears on his cheeks and a black agony staring out from behind his eyes. “I will not be allowed to carry my father’s Kahtra. He has found a n-new mate, a new b-bond. It shall fall to her.” 

It had been his last and dearest hope - however pathetically human that hope had been - to remain as one of them; to be part of the New Vulcan in this – a tiny particulate; to retain the last and only honor open to him; to be Vulcan still within the deepest, most hidden, and most precious part of him, despite his isolation and his genetics and their refusal to allow him to mate with another Vulcan and produce generations more. Even despite their shame for him over his human mother and over, as they saw them, his faulty genes. He had wished to keep just the one honor– just that. It is all he had wanted after Nero, all he had hoped for. Surely it had not been too much?

But this one last dignity, this final mark that exclaimed him as still palpably Vulcan, was not to be his either. The last tether he had to his Vulcan heritage was gone, ripped away. Spock could feel the wound inside his mind. He had never experienced such an agony of emotion. He never thought he could feel to this depth of sorrow. Is this what it means to be human? Is this what Kirk had wanted of him? Who would ever wish this on anyone? “It was all I had left.” He whispered. “I am no longer Vulcan.”

I am no longer Vulcan.

And I am not human. 

Therefore I am nothing.

I am nothing.

Bones whispered into his private comm.-link. “Kirk to Spock’s quarters - right now.”

STSTST

“He has to be put on suicide watch.” Bones said to Jim, arranging his instruments and placing the used hypo into the sterilizer. The hypo he had used to sedate their very distressed Vulcan crewmate and friend. “You understand that – right?”

Kirk’s eyes never left the prone Vulcan asleep on McCoy’s bio-bed. The room was one of the cordoned off ones, with partitions to block the curious stares of others. But Kirk could see him. Made sure he could still see him. 

Because Spock was back here again. Kirk felt a very significant part of his world slipping between his fingers. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

“Even if it isn’t, you really want to take that chance?”

“What can you do for him?”

Bones sighed. A weary resignation of how limited his medicine, despite hundreds of years of learning, really was. “I’ve put in a call to New Vulcan. Once I can talk to them, maybe I can figure out a way to help him. I can’t believe his own father wouldn’t have known what this might do to him. He, or one of them, must have an idea how to help him.”

Kirk hoped so. ‘What if they can’t?”

“Then we’ll help him...somehow.” As determined as McCoy sounded, Kirk wasn’t sure his doctoring was up to it.

“What actually happened...in his quarters I mean?”

“Spock is manifesting the Vulcan equivalent of a time-limited – let’s hope – behavioral disorder which symptoms are primarily stress-induced depression and anxiety. In other words, captain, in the colloquial, he’s suffered a nervous breakdown.”

“But he’s a Vulcan.”

“I said ‘Vulcan equivalent’ didn’t I?” Bones frowned. “Vulcans have emotions, captain; they’re just used to controlling or suppressing them. In Spock’s case I’d say suppressing them has been his mechanism of choice. Eventually all that denial of feeling builds until the back-pressure is too much. It’s no surprise he finally blew a valve. Plus let’s not forget that he’s a Vulcan that just lost his last connection to his planet and people. That would send anyone for a tour of the rubber room.” 

“When New Vulcan gets back to you, I want to speak to them myself.”

“I need to talk to their Vulcan healers.”

“Fine, but I want to ask Sarek a few things.” Like why he doesn’t appear to give a shit about his only child.

STSTST

To say that Ambassador Sarek was less than amenable about talking to James T. Kirk about his personal family business was an understatement. “What I have or have not discussed with my son is not for you to know, Captain Kirk.” Was his bald answer to Kirk’s query of the conversation between Spock and himself. “It was and is a matter for Vulcan, not for the Federation.”

“If it relates to Spock and his well being you better believe it’s my business. He’s the first officer of this ship.”

“He is first my son.”

“Then why has he been cut off of his Vulcan legacy?” If Kirk could believe that Vulcan’s could swear he would have expected Sarek to respond with a good, colourful string of them, but he was resolute in his Vulcan-ness and merely lifted one irritated eyebrow. 

“That is also not your concern.”

“His life is my concern.”

“His life is well in hand, captain. I have made...appropriate arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” Kirk crossed his arms, refusing to back down to this or any Vulcan’s bullheaded reticence. “As captain I need to know.”

“I do not believe that to be so. I am aware of Starfleet regulations regarding private family matters and -”

“Let me put it another way. Are you aware, Ambassador Sarek, that I can refuse to let board any non-Starfleet visitor whose ship does not pass inspection? You’d be amazed at what sort of infestations vessels can pick up in space.” A veiled threat but one that was not lost on Sarek.

“Very well.” His tone made clear his opinion of the emotional - and manipulative - James Kirk. “Support from Vulcan will arrive within the day. Spock will be tended to.”

“And how will this person help him?”

Sarek was measuring his words carefully. “He will assist Spock...to get well again.”

He’d better. “Good news.” Not as detailed as he would have liked but he supposed he couldn’t at this juncture look a gift-horse in the mouth. He was lucky to have gotten that much out of him. Kirk flashed Sarek a stingy smile. “Thank you Ambassador – I look forward to meeting him. Kirk out.”

STST

When the small Vulcan ship called for permission to dock at fifteen-twenty the next day, it was Kirk, Bones and Spock who attended to the greeting of said visitor in the cargo hold.

A Vulcan stepped out of the two-man craft with its two folding nacelles, tucking away into the sides of the ship like great featherless wings, and its flawlessly logical yet still elegant design. A bulky, oxen-faced individual with a low forehead and a perfectly somber expression appeared in the ornate doorway. Thick, powerful legs carried him down the short ramp to the deck and he raised fingers, each the width of a banana, in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, I come to serve.” He sounded almost bored.

Spock, shaky but back on his feet and on a very temporary medical pass out of Med-Bay, returned the salute and stated “We are honored, Stol’hak, as am I.”

Deciding to forgo the Vulcan hand-torture version of hello, which he had never been able to master, Kirk instead stepped forward and nodded in greeting. “Mister Stol’hak, I’m Captain James T. Kirk, this is my Chief Medical Officer Doctor McCoy and of course, you already know Commander Spock.”

Stol’hak let his arms fall to his sides and nodded at Spock a second time. “I am acquainted with Commander Spock but this is the first time we have actually met.”

Kirk wanted to get right to the heart of the things. “So, you’re here to assist Spock with his illness? Perhaps we should get started.”

Spock appeared uncomfortable, but Stol’hak looked only puzzled. “I am not a healer, Captain Kirk.” He offered as if that were enough of a clarification.

“Oh?” Bones asked, jumping in. He was damn curious as to why Sarek would not send a healer, considering what his son had just been through. “What are you then?”

Spock cleared his throat and turned to the captain and the doctor. “Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Stol’hak is here, not as my healer, but as the provider of a link.” Spock explained. His voice rose just above a whisper when he added “Stol’hak is to be my Bonded.”

STSTST


	5. Part V

Evidence of the Figurative Part V  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.  
Angst ahead!  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

“Didja hear? We got ‘nother Gazoo on board.”

“Gazoo?”

“Yeah. You know? Little green man. ‘Cept this guy’s the size of a shuttle.”

“You might want to keep the nick names to yourself. They can hear like dogs you know.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

Spock could hear that and other conversations as he passed crewman quarters on his way to his own. Quiet conversations one crewperson to another, sharp-toned arguments between couples, the breathy sighs and moans of loving-making... 

Spock hurried on passed that last one, trying to put the noises out of his mind. The noises both fascinated and disturbed him for reasons he was not willing to entertain at that moment. McCoy had granted him limited medical clearance to travel between Med-Bay, one of the three Mess Halls on board and his own quarters. Spock entered his rooms with relief, intending to study the newest science journals or, if he was able to manage the mental discipline necessary, meditate, to expunge the all the human words, kind or unkind, from his mind, which had become more and more unsettled of late.

He needed quiet. He needed to be away from the incessant chatter of the other crewmembers who never seemed to cherish even a moment of silence. Not as he did; not as a Vulcan did.

 

But then the others were not Vulcans; there was no logical reason to expect them to behave as one. IDIC applied. 

Logic dictated his thoughts, yet it also frequently reminded him that not one of his fellows aboard Enterprise was like him, not one understood how sensitive a Vulcan’s ears really were and how painful – painful to his auditory nerve bundle and to perhaps, other systems particular to his genetic make-up over which he would no longer indulge in speculation as to their existence or import - their harsh laughter could often be. 

 

They almost never gave thought to that. Because he was Spock; he was a Vulcan and as such they believed that their emotions did not affect him just as he had often asserted, therefore they could enjoy a good laugh at his expense. Freedom of thought was a fundamental right in the Federation and rightly so. There were too many species for any one group to expect all to think in agreement. It was logical to allow others to hold distasteful opinions as long as no corresponding act of harm was ever committed. 

Many humans, for example, never considered that perhaps even though he was a Vulcan, the things they said were insulting. He was called many things when they thought he could not hear them: Green boy, hobgoblin (Doctor McCoy’s favorite), elf, Satan, and one, the most recent and unfamiliar name, the one he’d had to look up on the ships data base - was Gazoo; a reference to a small green alien separated from his home and banned from ever returning there until he had completed an allotment of good deeds among humans on Earth. 

That one had sent an inexplicable shiver of something undefined down his spine. People often spoke without thought or consideration; it was a daily part of working in the Federation the majority of which organization was instituted and peopled by humans. Some did not care that he might suffer offense; as though, because he was Vulcan, their jokes did not affect him. 

They were not supposed to. He was Vulcan. It was illogical to take anything said in jest as personal. It was un-Vulcan to feel hurt – to feel anything – as a result. 

Despite his human genetic influences, he had been raised as fully Vulcan. It did not matter if you insulted a Vulcan because Vulcans had no feelings and they treated him accordingly - as though he were a stone wall. As though he were made of ice or glass or hull-grade tricarbydium. As though his torso was empty of organs. As though they suspected he did not care what they really thought of him. As though he could easily shift the opinions of others from his shoulders. As though their words did not matter to a Vulcan. As though he could escape them. As though he had elsewhere to go.

Spock closed his eyes and entered the shared lavatory between his and the captain’s quarters. Although he had made use of the sonic shower earlier, he felt...unsanitary and even though he could not find a logical reason why he wanted another one he shed his uniform and under-clothing and stepped into the shower, choosing this time the water jets instead of the sonic setting. It was illogical to use up water. The ship recycled it all of course but still...the sonic would have sufficed. Water would not make him any cleaner.

Yet once the spray hit his torso, he stayed motionless in one spot for many minutes, enjoying the sensation of the powerful spray on his skin. 

From the depths of his mind returned a memory from his early child-hood. His mother was bathing him and humming a tune. Both things seemed to wrap warmed fingers around his mind lending a kind of soothing massage to his disturbed thoughts. He understood that, as time went on and he drew closer and closer to his First Time, his initial Pon Farr, his thinking would only become more and more unsettled, his physical body more and more resistant to his mental controls – to logical thinking - until he would need to be locked away from his crewmates to ride out the rages and base physical urges until the Time passed by. He did not know how long the experience would take? Hours? Days? His father never spoke of it. Only the Healers explained such things and he was forbidden to seek their assistance (only possible by touch), in any way.

Stol’hak was to help with this; his link would most probably allow him to live through the Time. It was his father’s final gift to him.

Ship’s time seemed to be passing far too slowly although Spock knew this perception to be an illusion. His link with Stol’hak would take place in orbit around New Vulcan. The ship was en-route now. It would take several days to reach the planet. Stol’hak had that much time to contemplate whether he wished this joining or no. His potential Bonded may yet choose not to be linked to a half-breed for life. A part-Vulcan no one else was willing to accept. Stol’hak still had that choice; still possessed that freedom.

Spock switched the spray from water-with-antiseptic-soap to rinse-water only and let the water cascade down his chest, sluicing away the soapy residue. He could feel the bubbly rivulets clinging to his thighs and dripping off the end of his penis. He turned to let the massaging spray pound against the long, stress-tightened muscles of his back. 

Would the link take? Would a few days be sufficient time for both partakers to become comfortable with a link that would bond their minds for life? There was to be no other sharing involved; not body or property, nor even future conversations. Was it enough time so both understood they would each live a solitary life, alone in their thoughts but for the distant gossamer psionic link across decades of time and the dark reaches of space; the only connection either would have that would ensure their survival? To establish a base-line telepathic presence of one mind to another - a safety net? 

Under such a link, suicide would be an unconscionably selfish act, as it would most likely also kill – or seriously harm - the corresponding Bonded one. Stol’hak would afford them both safety; survival; continued existence. It was logical.

Stol’hak was making a great sacrifice but it was not without reward. If Stol’hak decided to link and the link was successful, Sarek would pay over a substantial sum to Stol’hak’s clan. Spock would live but only with the stain of a transaction upon him. Once again he was counted as separate; a distinction he found himself growing weary of.

Yet he would live. Most likely.

Suffer, yes, through pon-farr after pon-farr with no mate to contain his loss of mental and emotional controls and no hands or lips or teeth to slake his body’s mindless desires. He would conceal himself away in his quarters - or in his apartment or his house or where ever his career took him from this day forward - and wait it out. Once ever seven years he would suffer the humiliation of surviving by purchase and without the comfort or physical treasuring of a willing and enthusiastic mate.

But he would live. He would survive. Like other Vulcans he was, at this time, merely a survivor. At a terrible cost he belonged. Unlike other Vulcans he was now a nation of one. At a terrible cost, he was estranged. 

Every where he took step, he was now alien. But he would live. His life, his work, would continue. 

Therefore it was logical.

The water began to sting against his desert-evolved flesh. Flesh and skin used to the parched conditions of Old Vulcan where every drop of water was a treasure and every home built over a sunken well of the precious fluid. Where no Vulcan would every consider wasting such a valuable commodity by showering with it until his skin was raw. 

But you are no longer Vulcan are you? The mocking voice returned and with it the emotions - feeble but growing in strength - of anger, betrayal, grief and the terrible, terrible sensation of being forever lost to...something.

In its desperation to latch onto anything to ground itself, images of Jim Kirk entered his mind. They would play chess and speak at length of ship’s matters, and eat meals together and simply visit each other, often in a most comfortable silence, and Jim would reach out his fingers to touch him when no other person aboard, save for Uhura or McCoy, had ever done so – Nyota because she had made some limited physical claims upon his body while they were “dating”, and McCoy but only during medical settings. 

Kirk used to touch him whenever he wished, it seemed. Spock had often puzzled over those times, uncertain as to their meaning, often trying to put them aside as un-Vulcan and so unimportant or as a human’s illogical need to comfort one who did not require comforting. But Kirk had not touched him since his break-down after his father’s announcement and, with the arrival of Stol’hak, for Kirk to touch him now would be highly inappropriate.

But those touches now loomed in memory like a soothing balm. It was not lost on him that Kirk found him physically attractive. Spock had seen Jim’s pupils dilate and sensed the increase of both the captain’s temperature and heart-rate at specific times, all occurring while he was present. Spock had though, because he was a meticulous scientist, in fact kept an accurate accounting of those times of where and when they presented so he could eliminate other potential causative factors. 

There were none; his proximity to the captain had brought them to bear. Confined together while hiding from an enemy, one assisting the other when injured and other non-urgent situations that had required physical contact had confirmed it. Jim liked him beyond the human definition of friend. Jim’s response to him contained a marked physical component.

If only he was not Vulcan, then perhaps he could have responded in some fashion. Human sexuality was much simpler. They were tied to certain physical rhythms but not enslaved by them. Vulcan biology had not always been so...violent. Spock knew it was a Vulcan evolutionary adaption/conditioning to ensure the survival of his kind. His kind used to be violent, even more so than most species, coming to the brink of self annihilation because of those tendencies to attack and possess without reason or ethics; because the emotions in his kind ran deeper than most and, in the distant past, had not been tempered by honor-bound-boundaries – which even the Klingon race adhered to. 

Logic had saved them, but it had wrought some un-intended consequences. Any species that, over time, dedicated itself to such tight voluntary mental controls over the involuntary physical flesh was bound to have those controls undermined, at least temporarily. Equally potent physical urges had come to the fore once again, but this time setting themselves in place to force reproduction. As a product of evolution and adaption, the Vulcan history was a study in irony; a type of out-of-control insanity bursting forth very seven years to ensure that those same tightly controlled, sane creatures of logic did not logic themselves right out of existence. It made sense in an evolutionary way.

Even Vulcan logic with its emphasis on control could not refute the logic of that.

Still, what would it be like to be able to pick and choose your intimate times? To have at your fingers, as it were, anyone you desired? Even Jim – 

“Spock?”

Spock turned his head, although he had heard the captain clearly enough.

“Is it that you?”

Spock blinked at the inanity of some human questions. It was not a reflection on the captain’s intelligence. Spock knew it was simply a human way of prompting a verbal response, however illogical the question. Who else would it be in their private, shared lavatory?

“Yes, captain.” Spock, with no thoughts as to modesty as his mind had without his actually being aware of it – ‘gone blank’ - activated the partly opaque partition – in this instance polymer which had been ground during its production to leave a ‘frosted’ appearance - and it slid aside into its recess in the bulkhead.

Kirk had gone perfectly still and silent and was staring and staring long enough that Spock awoke from his temporary mind freeze and looked down at himself - only then recalling that he was naked. 

Kirk tore his eyes away from any spot below his first officer’s clavicles. Spock’s very shapely clavicles. It wasn’t every day you got to see the person of your masturbatory fantasies standing naked in your bathroom. The gentle wash of artichoke that appeared on Spock’s cheeks and that was softly flushing over his nicely muscled chest made the momentary shock plus the inevitable not-knowing-what-to-do-with-his-hands that Kirk was experiencing well worthwhile.

Spock was blushing, or at least the Vulcan equivalent. Did Vulcans blush the way humans did? Hadn’t he read something about it? That it was a combination of a slight rise in blood pressure - nothing as dramatic as what the human body did – coupled with expanded surface capillaries to better effect the circulation of blood to the extremities during stress? It sounded about the same as a human reaction. Kirk made a mental note to read up on Vulcan things some more, as he had been doing since he first realised (to some shame), he wanted to bang his first officer from here to Kingdom come and twice on Sundays.

There wasn’t a thing coming to Kirk’s mind to put his naked First at ease because he knew it was ridiculous to feel at ease when you found yourself standing before your commanding officer unintentionally naked as the day you were born, and for a Vulcan it was probably ten times worse. “Um...” Kirk reached behind him and grabbed a folded towel, handing it to his equally tongue tied friend. “...you’re dripping.”

Spock nodded his thanks and swiftly wrapped it around his waist...

Unfortunately it was an action that prompted Kirk’s eyes to disobey his previous command to abstain, and instead they looked down just long enough to see a flash of lovely abdominal muscles sheathed in the thinnest layer of fat and skin above a long, slim penis and plump testicles all nestled in a light feathering of very soft-looking hair. 

Before Kirk could drag his wayward eyes away from his first officer’s tantalising nudity, Spock voiced what Kirk thought was a mumbled “excuse me captain” and then rapidly disappeared into his own quarters, shutting the door behind him. 

Kirk sighed. He had no idea if he should apologise or boldly go and ask him out on a date.

At least Spock hadn’t locked his door after him. That had to be a good sign – right?

Kirk made use of the facilities, washed his hands and splashed some very cold water on his face. He didn’t know where to go from here. He did not want that dullard Stol’hak to become Spock’s linked or bonded or what-the-hell-ever but neither did he want Spock to leave the ship to look elsewhere. There were a lot of things for him to think over in the next few days but one thing was now absolutely crystal clear in his mind.

Christ - did Spock have a gorgeous body! 

STSTST

Kirk was pacing Bone’s quarters because Spock was resting next to his own and because he needed somewhere private to snarl and someone to snarl at who would not take it personally, all without a Vulcan with very good ears anywhere nearby to overhear. “So he’s doing this – this link thing – because it’s the Vulcan way? He’s marrying a total stranger? How logical is that?”

Bones sipped at a rapidly cooling coffee. He felt the need to stock up on caffeine –even the synthetic variety. “Jim, Vulcans have had so many fingers in tat goddamned logic pie of theirs for so goddamn long that if they needed a logical reason to take a crap only on Tuesdays they’d find one!” McCoy wished the captain would just sit the hell down. “Would you sit down for Christ’s sake, you’re wearing out my daughter’s thirty-seventh birthday present.”

Kirk looked down at the brightly coloured ‘throw’ rug beneath his boots. It looked like the kind of gift a fourteen year old would pick out for her father. The mug in Bone’s hand must have been from her too. “World’s best daddy doctor” was written in black across its bright red ceramic glaze. Kirk’s eyebrows wrinkled a bit. “When was your birthday?”

“Eight months ago. We were at New Titan – remember that mess? And I wish to hell I hadn’t been because I had to miss my leave – and my daughter’s thirteenth on Earth. She had to send it by shipping barge. Took ‘em four months to finally meet up with the Enterprise.”

Kirk nodded. Subspace mail arrived the same ‘day’, but packages from home were discouraged as any Federation ships that carried physical mail had no set schedule and did not do long runs into deep space. The Enterprise or any Federation vessel had to be within easy reach to receive such mail from home, and on occasion packages were lost if a skirmish with an aggressive species happened; usually because the ship and its crew were destroyed, although that was rare. But the civil war breaking out on New Titan between the factions had to be stopped, or at least minimized. In service of Starfleet birthdays and almost every other personal need came dead last.

“How is she?” It took a second for McCoy to realise Jim was asking after his daughter. “She’s thirteen and precocious as hell - a McCoy all the way actually.”

There were no words of commiseration Kirk had to offer to McCoy about his missed family obligations so he just nodded and resumed his pacing. Bones sighed. “Look, Jim, there’s a lot you might not know about Vulcans and their biological drives, in fact I’m pretty damn sure of that, so sit down and let me explain a few things to you.” 

Kirk took a seat, reluctantly. “I’ve been reading up on it myself.”  
“Good but I’ll bet you didn’t get the version that requires medical clearance did you? I thought not. Now shut up and listen.” 

Kirk knew McCoy meant no disrespect by his tone or word choices even though had he used them on any other captain in the fleet (except for maybe Pike. Pike could be an uptight bastard but he was not a stickler for the rule book like it was the fucking bible or something), would get him written up so fast he’d need to look three times to notice. 

“You’re aware that Vulcans live three times as long as humans.” At Kirk’s nod Bones continued, waving a lazy hand here or there for emphasis. “Well there are a lot of other differences, okay? For starters human hormones kick in much younger than Vulcans because of a thing called evolutionary survival.”

“Bones I’m not a first year cadet.”

“I know that, I’m setting something up here, be quiet for a minute will ya’? So, um – okay, we evolved from apes and the average life-span of most apes is about forty to fifty years – this went on for millions of years - but it wasn’t that long ago either that humans were only living to forty years, that’s why we enter puberty at a much younger age than Vulcans – and as nutrition increased, human physiology responded by not only living longer but by entering puberty even earlier.”

“I know, I know. Boys and girls can make babies at twelve or thirteen.” 

"Yeah, don’t remind me. As I was saying, humans can reproduce at a young age, before their brain is fully mature actually which is sorta’ backwards if you ask me, but in the distant past as a species we had to. We only lived a short time and making as many babies as possible was necessary, especially considering the survival rate of most infants pre-medical revolution was about three in ten.”

Bones paused to sip his coffee. “Vulcans are a whole other ballgame, Jim. They’re sterile for one thing, until just prior to their first Pon Farr and they live for two-hundred and fifty years or more so there's no hurry about having babies for them. Most Vulcan males don't father a child until they’re into their forties or even fifties. Spock is only 28 Vulcan years old. If he’s about to go into Pon Farr – and he suspects it like I do or he would never have made this arrangement with Stol’hak – then it’s possibly his body’s human influences accelerating it.”

“What’s going to happen? I mean to him, during this Pon Farr?”

 

“Well, captain, Pon Farr is a whole other other ballgame again. It’s incredible really, how they’ve survived considering they spawned on a desert planet with potentially killing heat, no surface water and thin air.” Bone’s voice took a note of respect. “Their core temperatures are lower than ours, they can absorb and shed heat through the skin while releasing very little sweat in the process – they don’t need to sweat actually, their sweat and oil glands act as more of a lubricant to keep the skin from drying out. 

“But back to my point. When it’s time for Pon Farr - and remember Spock’s could be closer than we might think simply because his physiology isn’t fully Vulcan; his human genetics are mixed in through-out his biological systems, even his brain is slightly different than a full blooded Vulcan’s. He has what could be considered the Vulcan equivalent of a pineal gland, something Vulcans have but which in them is almost atrophied. But Spock’s is almost as large as a human’s and we think it assists in regulating his body’s responses to the flood of hormones first released at Pon Farr. In other words, it causes him to get all hot and bothered. But his brain also contains Vulcan regulating neuro-hormones that activated long before puberty, which Spock is close to entering now, so his body is in a kind of struggle with itself, which is actually not too surprising in a hybrid.”

 

The word Jim heard most clearly over and over was puberty while his insides began churning up vats of shame. “Bones, I think I’m probably going to hell. Are you saying Spock isn’t a grown-up yet?” And that I’ve been jerking off to fantasies of shoving it into an adolescent?? 

“Calm down, Jimmy boy, and keep listening. So once a Vulcan’s hormones start reeling, they go nuts and enter Pon Farr, they mate or die – that’s with a full blooded Vulcan mind-you and remember - Spock isn’t full Vulcan. He may be only twenty percent or so human but that twenty percent has its red-blooded fingers jammed into a lot of notches. In reality they couldn’t have predicted what would happen with Spock and we still can’t. In human years he's barely out of adolescence but in Vulcan he's about a decade early for Pon Farr – if that’s what all this upset is – it might just be the lingering effects of his idiotic ingestion of that herb, or his loss of his planet and the bulk of his species – highly traumatic in itself. The telepathic link he had with all of them is probably missing now – which is even worse.

 

“Vulcans are touch telepaths but did you know that Spock is a stronger one? He can read minds without touch if he concentrates hard enough – and that’s probably his human genetics doing that. Vulcans pretty well link to all other Vulcans on some level but that’s missing now from Spock. Their whole telepathic network was annihilated and they haven’t rebuilt it yet. Plus it’ll be centuries before it’ll reach the level of billions of links again.”

“How does all of this help us help him now?” 

“It doesn’t. I just want you to get the bigger picture before you go and do what I suspect you’re thinking about doing.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Don’t be coy, Jim, it doesn’t suit you. I’m talking about your idea to link with Spock so he doesn’t have to link with that miserable excuse for a Bond-mate or leave the Enterprise to find another.”

“Are you saying a human can’t link with a Vulcan?”

“Of course not; Spock’s exists doesn’t he? His parents have to have mentally bonded.”

“Then what are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying think it over very, very carefully. Vulcan’s link for life, Jim; I’m saying that once you’re linked only a Vulcan healer can sever it, and if it is severed, one or both parties can suffer badly for that loss. Some even die. Spock isn’t some fling you’re contemplating; he’s a Vulcan who requires this link to survive.”

“I thought it was the link and the mating that keeps them alive?”

“In full blooded Vulcans both are necessary. Spock is a hybrid. We just don’t know what will happen to him. But this link with Stol’hak could be the only way to save his life.”

It was inadequate but “This sucks.”

“Yes it does. Between Stol’hak’s link – and that’s only if they prove to be compatible, there’s no guarantee they are at this point – and some hormone regulating drugs and some isolation to reduce the psychic pain Spock’s liable to go through without the physical comfort his body will demand –and for a Vulcan that wouldn't be much different than a mental/physical torture marathon - we might just get him through this.” 

Kirk could sit still no longer. He burst from his seat and began pacing again. “Fuck.” Screw evolution, screw genetics and screw every bigoted Vulcan ever born – this was so unfair. “I’m not letting him die Bones.”

“You want to be linked to Spock for the rest of your life?”

“I’m....fond of him.”

“This isn’t some dating game, Jim. You’re talking about a mental link to him for the rest of your natural life. A link you can’t break without probably seriously hurting or killing him - and maybe yourself too. It isn’t a marriage – exactly – but it’s a hell of a lot more than a hand-shake. To Spock you will become his T’hyl’a; his Bonded one; his mate.”

“Okay, I’m willing to take that on. I mean, Jesus, if it’ll save his life...”

“But what will he be to you?” Bones asked softly making his captain snap his head around.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean will he be just your friend? A friend with whom you’ve shared what is to a Vulcan the most intimate part of yourself? Because he’ll see it as far more than that. If he’s bonded to you with this telepathic link – he’ll never take another mate. He’ll never indulge in another relationship, not even one as casual as he did with Uhura.”

Kirk stopped pacing and stood in one spot, his boots glued to the floor. “You’re saying it’ll probably save his life but also make him unhappy for the rest of it.”

“I’m saying he’ll be alone while you’re off screwing whoever, happily oblivious to the pain you’d be causing him.”

“Mental pain.” It was not a question. 

“Mental, psychic, physical...and especially emotional. You think Vulcans don’t experience sexual desire outside their Pon Farr? It’s a myth. Post-puberty they can enjoy sexual contact anytime they want to. They also, by the way, require physical and emotional comfort no matter how much their tenants of logic insists that they don’t. Which logic is, in case you were wondering, as much a religion as a societal philosophy, the only difference is their religion of choice doesn’t include any gods.”

Kirk chewed his lip. “I don’t want to lose him Bones.”

“The best first officer in the fleet, your friend or...?”

“Him - my friend - Spock.”

“So you don’t know if you maybe –what? - love him, or like him enough that over time it’d amount to the same thing?” 

“I...” Kirk dropped his mental attention to his hands fisted at his sides. “I wish...I just...I’m not...I just...I...I don’t know.” He finally admitted. Was it just a sexual crush? Did he...kind of...love him? On the other hand forever was a very, very long time. “I wish to hell I did.”

Bones nodded as though confirming his own suspicions. “If you don’t know for sure then do Spock a favour: let him link with Stol’hak and then stay the hell away. Because anything less than full conviction from you and he’ll know from the moment the link is set. And that will just hurt him for a very long time. Spock may drive me crazy with his Vulcan logic and stubbornness but he’s still my patient – not to mention a friend – and I won’t stand by while you play a game of fast and loose with the rest of his life.”  
STSTST


	6. Part VI

Evidence of the Figurative Part VI  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.   
Angst ahead!  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

“So who is this Stol’hak?” Uhura asked.

Kirk looked down at his disappointing scrambled vegetable protein ‘eggs’ and shoved them aside, concentrating instead on his steaming hot, triple sugared espresso. It wasn’t made from real espresso coffee beans but at least it tasted like it was supposed to – hot, black and strong enough to raise a blister on his Starfleet issue boot. Kirk glanced across the table to Bones, who had joined him moments ago with his bowl of fruit. 

Bones pointedly ignored the queried glance. Finally when it became clear neither Kirk nor Uhura were going to do anything but stare at him – Bones set his folk down and leaned back with a put-upon sigh. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“But you must know something,” Uhura said, her beautiful brow folded with concern. “And Spock won’t talk to me outside of bridge duty anymore.” She added, pouting. 

“Probably something to do with Vulcan tradition,” Kirk offered. “Vulcans’re probably sticklers for social etiquette, and now that Spock’s practically engaged...”

“He’s not engaged.” Bones said, a bit snappishly. “Stop thinking of this is human terms. He’s just...preparing for all that Vulcan ritual and telepathic cleansing. It has to be a pure link or it won’t take.” 

Both Kirk and Uhura stared at him. “Cleansing?” Kirk asked.

Bones abandoned his fruit cocktail. “Telepaths, especially touch telepaths, need to be able to establish a new pathway into their counterpart’s psionic center – it’s a tiny area of the brain no thicker than the so-called servings of mock-bacon we get around here and it’s what makes it possible for Vulcan’s to be telepaths – and do ask me how it works not even the Vulcans know that – by default it just does.”

“By default?” Kirk asked, sipping at his cooling coffee.

“It’s the only part of the Vulcan brain even their healers don’t understand so by definition it has to be the center that makes it possible for them to do their telepathic Vulcan voo-doo.” Bones returned to his fruit bowl, idly picking at the softening melon pieces the striped colours akin to that of candy-canes; not anything from Earth. “Spock can’t afford any distractions right now.”

Kirk frowned into his mug. No, he supposed not. Vulcan equivalent of pre-marriage jitters? But it wasn’t going to be a marriage. Not even an engagement. “So what do you think of Stol’hak?” Would he be good for Spock? Would he at least befriend him? Only Vulcans usually didn’t do that. So...would there be communication at least? Did this guy care about Spock at all?

Uhura piped in. “It’d probably violate some Vulcan code if we asked.” She did not sound pleased and Kirk glanced at her wrinkled forehead. Yeah, she was worried too even though Spock had withdrawn from her completely, even though they were hardly speaking outside of duty. She looked like she missed him. But she was seeing that other new guy now so that was good wasn’t it? 

“Yeah, probably,” Kirk muttered. A ship-wide announcement relayed that he was wanted on the bridge immediately. Kirk stood as his other bridge officers also scrambled from the mess to their stations, including Uhura. 

It was just as well. His coffee was cold. 

STSTST

“Your parents are dead?” It was Spock’s first question of the evening.

Stol’hak nodded his head once, very properly solemn but with no inflection of visible grief. His eyes however scanned the room carefully as they spoke, noting his possible intended’s eclectic mix of Vulcan and human items placed upon shelves with efficient taste. A Vulcan box carved from stone, several books of literature from antiquity – human, and Vulcan meditation robes. A fine coating of dust was obvious to Stol’hak’s pure Vulcan vision. The hybrid Spock had not attempted meditation in some time. Sitting on another shelf were four crystal glasses arranged in a perfect square; lead crystal forged with silica – also human.

“They were scientists – assistants to S’Tonor aboard the Academy exploratory ship T’Pon.”

Spock knew the history and also why Stol’hak did not provide more details. The ship had been crippled by an Orion slave trader, and its compliment of thirty scientists and crew taken. None had even been heard from again. The ship had been found plundered of every usable component, its denuded carcass left to drift with the dust motes between stars.

“Assuming you choose to link with me, I find I am curious as to why.” Spock said. Scientific curiosity of course, nothing more.

“I am sterile.” Stol’hak answered without shame or hesitation. “I am prevented from adding to the population of New Vulcan and this way my clan will benefit from the financial gain. It was logical.”

Logical but by no means certain. Stol’hak could still change his mind. There was nothing preventing him from living out the remainder of his life on Vulcan, linked to a cousin or a younger sibling – and remaining celibate – joining in the rebuilding of Vulcan society in other ways, through science or via simple but useful manual labor. 

Options closed to him as - though not sterile – not a full Vulcan. “My father...” Spock prompted. Sarek would have convinced Stol’hak to do this; to spare his son death as he had been spared little else. Sarek would be seen before all Vulcan to have done his duty toward his ill-begotten offspring while at the same time ensuring his offspring would never return to Vulcan or to his clan. Also logical. 

‘Well played’ Kirk would instead have said with just a hint in his human blue-stormy eyes that it was also a ‘dirty deal’. As was ‘backdoor bargaining’, transactions made in secret but with a surface sheen of respectability. 

Spock nodded. His Vulcan training well understood the logic behind it, despite how it was impacting his life in so thorough a fashion. The human parts deep inside though suddenly railed against all things logical. It continued to surprise him how often logical things brought discomfort and discontent, to both parts of him.

The ship-wide Red alert alarm could be heard through-out the ship now, as Stol’hak and Spock continued their discussion. Spock itched to be on the bridge but it was not allowed. Stol’hak merely twitched his head, the alarm assaulting his Vulcan ears with hits high pitched rhythmic wail. He looked to Spock for clarification.

“I shall ascertain the situation and return shortly.” Spock said.

STSTST

Once in the corridor, Spock made his way swiftly to the bridge, pausing just outside in the turbo-lift before entering. He was not supposed to be here but that was as an officer on duty. Surely his presence itself would not be disallowed? “Captain?”

Kirk swivelled in his center seat. “Spock? What are you do-?”

“Captain,” Chekov’s young timber interrupted. “They are requesting our intervention on the surface.”

“Who is requesting?”

“The Minister herself – Rhollan Daigh-So; she says the West Faction cannot be reasoned with.”

Kirk stepped closer to the view-screen as though it might somehow make things clearer. It was an all human gesture, steeped in frustration that they were still in orbit and still only listening to the turmoil on the surface. It was also all Kirk who detested in-action and especially squabbling bureaucrats. “I hate these bullshit diplomatic survey missions.” He said under his breath but loud enough for Spock to overhear. 

“Captain, Stol’hak has much experience in these situations. Perhaps he may be of some assistance?” Spock suggested.

Kirk looked over his shoulder, and then walked to stand beside his off-duty first. “What sort of experience?”

Spock tweaked an eyebrow “Bullshit diplomatic missions.” At the upward twitch of Kirk’s lips, he added “He spent forty years as an ambassador for Vulcan to a variety of non-Federation worlds. His mother was the same when she was young, before her death aboard the T’Pon.”

Kirk had heard of that tragedy. A lot of Vulcan scientists had been presumably captured by Orion slavers. “Been around has he?”

“And back again we must assume, as he is still alive and intact.” 

Kirk punched one of a dozen or so links on his chair. “Mister Uzuma, arrange a landing party of six including myself. Mister Sulu, you’ve the Con’. Mister Spock, let’s go speak to Stol’hak.” 

“Captain, may I accompany you to the surface in an unofficial capacity?”

Kirk looked at him with a little tilt of his head. “Unofficial?”

“I would be most interested to see Stol’hak in his element so-to-speak. His qualifications as a diplomat are well known on Vulcan.”

Kirk sensed there was something unsaid and Spock did not miss the implication in the captain’s crooked brows.

“As well, the more time I spend with Stol’hak, the more likely our bond will succeed.” At that Kirk’s brows smoothed yet seemed somehow even more pensive than before. 

“Okay Mister Spock. You’re still off-duty but unofficially, you’ll accompany Landing Party One.”

Stol’hak was willing, if not overtly enthusiastic. Kirk had to remind himself that as long as the cause was logical, Stol’hak would find no reason to be excited over wielding his talents in resolving the petty conflict on the planet. Kirk also wondered for the thousandth time whether boring people into negotiating was one of Stol’hak’s special tactics because the insufferably stoic Vulcan appeared to possess no personality what-so-ever. He could not imagine Spock linking with this stuffy excuse for a fiancé’. He just hoped the guy could pull his weight planet-side.

STSTST

Sulu ducked then flipped, feeling the solid earth disappear beneath his feet. He saw the world go green, then white, then green again as he turned the unintentional stumble into a more controlled roll, ending up sprawled at the bottom of a forty foot ravine with a slope just short of too dangerous to try such a maneuver and live through it minus any broken bones or torn up guts.

Once he had righted himself and raised his phaser, he saw that Spock had followed his move and done the same, only he had not fared so well, as the odd angle of his left leg would suggest. But Spock seemed not to be noticing his own injury as Kirk, laying only a meter away, appeared to be out cold. Even from where he was Sulu could see the blood on the crown of the captain’s head. Kirk had probably struck a rock on his way down.

Sulu scrambled over to his commanding officers. Spock was well hidden beneath a packed grass and dirt over-hang and was busy dragging the captain’s unresponsive body underneath it as well. Once within grabbing distance, Sulu gave him a hand until they were all three out of sight. If the horde that had come after them thought to peek down the ravine, they’d see nothing and, even more hopefully, not notice any sign of disturb gravel and dirt either.

As Spock assessed the captain’s injuries he asked “Did you see Mister Reed?”

One of the two security officers in their landing party. Sulu recalled seeing the bulky Hispanic with the easy laugh heading in the opposite direction, trying to draw away the nasty locals who had attacked. “No.”

“And Stol’hak..?”

“Sorry, Commander, no.” He didn’t remind Spock that Stol’hak had refused to carry a weapon, being an active Vulcan pacifist. “I’m sure he got away.”

Spock frowned. “There is no need to try and spare my feelings, Mister Sulu, I assure you, I am able to process bad news without, as our captain would say, ‘freaking out’.” Spock had seen Stol’hak run back toward the nearest settlement. An unthinking action on his part, but Stol’hak being a pacifist, had foregone any childhood training in combat or battle strategies. But where he lacked defensive training, he made up in the protocols of diplomacy. Stol’hak was a true Vulcan ambassador, having immersed himself in the philosophy of IDIC, rather than spending a life giving it mere lip-service as most did. 

Spock had come to learn with some respect that Stol’hak, as carefully Vulcan and emotionless as his personal demeanor was, thoroughly believed in the logical diversity of the universe as it stood; accepting all species as necessary and complete in and of themselves although advocating, of course, self-improvement for all. Their hours spent together walking the decks of the Enterprise and simply talking on a variety of subjects had proved enlightening. Stol’hak was a politician but also fair-minded. Spock was surprised at himself that he was slowly warming to this quiet Vulcan.

A second landing party – bless James Kirk’s paranoia – took care of the rebel attackers and managed to restore some level of order to the settlement but unfortunately not before the bodies of Reed and Stol’hak had been discovered hanged in the center of town as a warning to other ‘aliens’ who ‘dared to interfere’ in their planet’s business, whether invited by the rulers or not.

Aboard the Enterprise, McCoy grumbled at having Kirk once again in his Med-Bay and took it out on Spock. “Keep that damn leg still Spock.” He barked.

Spock took it in stride. He had quickly grown used to McCoy’s often deplorable bed-side manner and merely nodded to Kirk lying unconscious in a nearby bed. “How is the captain?” 

“Better than he could be but not as bad as I feared,” Bones answered.

The doctor’s cryptic responses were simply his human way of avoiding an uncomfortable topic. “A concussion then?” Spock inquired patiently.

“Yes, a bad one but there’s no swelling of the brain, so we count ourselves lucky - again.” Bone’s turned down one corner of his mouth with that last word and Spock recognised it as a type of weary resignation on McCoy’s part. The doctor knew better than most that Captain’s got hurt. Sometimes they died. “He’ll be fine in a few days or so but he stays here in Med-Bay until I say otherwise.” McCoy announced as though Kirk might be awake and listening. “I’ve got some families to write letters to.”

Yes, the conciliatory letters to the dead officer’s families. “I should like to write Stol’hak’s family, if I may doctor.”

Bones just nodded. “Of course Spock. I’m sorry about Stol’hak.”

“It was unfortunate circumstance. He was not a Starfleet officer.”

“No, but now what are you going to do?”

“I shall address that problem when the time arises.”

McCoy checked the monitor above the bone-mender just to give his eyes somewhere to look. “Well, let me now if you need anything. The second you feel yourself losing control, you let me know - Doctor’s orders.”

“Of course.” Spock watched the doctor move away to where Jim Kirk was lying, still breathing and whole if not yet completely well. Spock had been feeling the connection between himself and Stol’hak growing day by day, only to then feel it dissolve in an instant when his intended had been murdered earlier than morning on the planet surface. 

And he had felt the beginnings of the stirring of his Vulcan blood only hours later. A deep, warm ache in his bones and vessels; a drive; a baser need at his very core telling him he must hurry; coo-ing in his ear, nudging at his mind, relentlessly prodding him along the nerve sheath of his spine, whispering, pleading, begging him to link. He must connect - join – affix – yoke – bind himself to another. Couple his flesh, annex another’s mind and allow them to interface with his own. He must converge, mingle, unite, fuse, absorb, pool, lock, submerge, subdue, splice-swallow-conjugate-breed-meld-love...

He was shaking. His body and brain understood now, through-and through, that Stol’hak was gone, dead along with T’Pring and so many others. The Enterprise was nowhere near Vulcan yet and Spock was not one to entertain false hopes. 

Or hopes. 

No others would come forth to offer their link to him. His mind accepted this as deeply his body did not.

He could not stop shaking. 

He looked at the machine monitoring the progress of his mending shin bone. Two hours left until he could return to his quarters. Four days to New Vulcan at maximum warp. No one with which to link upon arrival. No ceremony to go through, no Stol’hak, no others...no hope.

Bones said he was worried. Uhura was also worried as was Chapel and others. All the humans were all worried about him. They understood the implications - if not entirely – in connection with his approaching Pon Farr. He had no Intended. No mate. No life-link for his mind. New Vulcan was now not to be his place of The Link (though they would have had to suffice with a near-orbit of the planet and not an actually surface ceremony), and the saving of his discounted life, but his ritual Dying and the gathering up of his KaHtra into his Father’s mind while his empty body was interred in one of the new clan tombs. 

This at least he would be allowed as the son of a full Vulcan, a burial among his clan on the new planet of his people, his KaHtra preserved for all time within the mind of his Father and then, upon his death, the minds of his clan as a whole. 

Where in life they had rejected him as impure, in death he would be welcomed as the prodigal son come home to them. A proverbial ring placed upon his finger, and sandals for his feet. He would be counted as wholly Vulcan and nothing else when his KaHtra was offered up; his spirit; the sacrificial soul; that which all are but only realised at the shedding of the flesh. It was almost religious. If he had been fully human he might have wept in joy.

Because KaHtras have no caste, gender or emotion. KaHtras are pure, perfect thought. He would be, finally, purely Vulcan. He would be home, his body free to age along with the rest of his kind and the planet itself (if alone, silently and in darkness). But it was strangely comforting. Comfort - a momentary, a last human indulgence. Spock would allow himself this for it was as good a goodbye as any to his helpless humanity.

After all his useless – and now he realised pointless! - Grief spilled over the flooring of his quarters, then washed down the sink of his shared lavatory when the tears finally, finally stopped, it seemed he would be returning home after all.

Spock stopped shaking.

STSTST


	7. Part VII

Evidence of the Figurative Part VII  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.  
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.   
Angst ahead!  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

 

“Mister Spock?” Sulu turned and could not help a shy smile as he saw the commander enter the bridge. 

“I am temporarily cleared for duty, Ensign Sulu, while Captain Kirk is incapacitated.” Then he added for the benefit of the entire bridge crew “Doctor McCoy has every confidence in our captain’s full recovery. Our time to New Vulcan Mister Checkov?”

“Seventeen minutes, sir.” His lilting voice of youth seemed glad to hear the news of his captain.

“Excellent.”

Uhura also turned but instead of smiling again, she was staring at him. And then, to his irritation, she was approaching him as he took the captain’s seat. 

He could almost predict her actions, her human sentimental actions, designed to comfort and support but were more than anything else an irritant to a Vulcan. True to form she placed her hand on his right forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry about Stol’hak.” She whispered in his ear.

Despite himself, the air passing over the limbic nerve bundle beneath the posterior cerebri of his skull sent sparks of intense physical desire into his brain, over-riding his Vulcan emotional controls that he had spent the entire night in meditation to achieve. He pulled his arm away, perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended. “Thank you lieutenant Uhura, but I am quite well.”

She removed her arm instead curling both hands over the arm of his chair, careful now not to touch him. “What are you going to do?”

It was a private matter now. Not for the crew no matter who they were. It was Vulcan ritual, for him, a Vulcan. As private a matter as any in Vulcan society and not a thing shared with outsiders, not even with those whom he could call his friends. “The matter is under control. You need not concern yourself.” Spoken stiffly. Spock’s personal boundaries were up and impossible to ignore.

Uhura, a linguistic expert, did not miss the dismissal in his tone. “Okay,” she whispered and returned to her duty station.

Spock could not help but release a very quiet sigh as she moved away once more. He knew he was functioning on a teetering edge of control. Only one more day to Vulcan. He swallowed around the persistent lump in his throat that had appeared on the day of Stol’hak’s death, a mere physical sensation, nothing more. Easily ignored.

The Ritual, when it was accomplished, would bring relief. It would be freedom at last from the anguish under which he had been struggling for months. The Ritual would bring calming silence, blissful sleep, perfect peace, no emotion or logic or need of either.

Liberty.

Just one more day.

STSTST

“We are entering into orbit around New Vulcan. We are entering into orbit around New Vulcan...” 

Spock’s computer alarm intoned on repeat. Spock lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters. Sleep had not come for him. Neither had meditation. He knew it was due to his body’s base reproductive imperatives over-riding his other, higher functions. Meditation was impossible, sleep was transitory, and logic would soon be non-existent.

It was good that he was to undergo The Ritual of KaHtra. It gratified him that he would soon be passing from this troublesome life into rest. He would be more purely Vulcan in death than he had ever hoped to be in life. As he stared at the ceiling in the ships’ dark – which was to him with his Vulcan night-vision a half-light consisting of shades in the spectrum of deep yellows to reds – some things still remained in the forefront of his thoughts. What would he be leaving behind that might cause...regret?

His duties aboard Enterprise, a choice of life he had grown accustomed to and one in which, if he had allowed the emotion to rise, had garnered some personal pride. His work as a scientist, adding to the knowledge base of IDIC, the Federation and of course, the universe itself. 

His friendship with James Kirk. 

The closest relationship he had ever experienced outside his own family and more specifically his mother. She had been human. She had loved him. He had known her for too short a time.

James Kirk had all but exploded into his life less than two years previously, upsetting his carefully ordered existence and then rearranging it with almost no regard for the Vulcan he was befriending. Infuriating, illogical human!

Yet Spock had found himself drawn to the young newly graduated and - far sooner than any graduate in history – newly commissioned captain. Kirk was loud, obnoxious and ambitious to a fault.

But he was also brilliant, an innovated tactician and highly popular with his crew. Never cruel but for that one time which was, Spock reminded himself, another tactic. One that had worked swimmingly. Kirk had done everything he could to save Vulcan and the same, eventually facilitating the salvation of his own world. And he had accomplished it with few casualties, risking himself to save others, yet not risking the ship as a whole – at least not without very good cause.

And then Kirk had turned to him, smirked in his human way, and offered the words that had altered Spock’s opinion of the young officer for all time. After explaining his idea of saving Nero to facilitate an opening dialogue with, of all races, the violent and space hungry Romulans, he had added “It’s logical, Spock. I thought you’d like that?”

And in that instant Spock had asked himself why. Why would his personal approval be sought? Tactical approval of course. Yes, logical. Yes, a good idea. I thought you’d like that. As though his idea sitting well with his First Officer’s ‘gut reaction’ was somehow important.

And Spock had then, in a fit of human recklessness, said back “No, not really. Not this time.” exposing his human parts, his need for revenge - his visceral hatred for Nero, openly where all could plainly see it.

But then a flash of...something had passed over Jim Kirk’s face, the light in his human eyes had grown brighter- sharper – and Spock had sensed some...thing had jumped between them – a silent call from Kirk to himself and back again, like an electric shock – like a word not spoken; a nameless request yet no less true and tangible, but one he could not categorise by emotion or logic. 

It had defied description, that day and every day forward since then. A passage of thought between two dissimilar beings but the thought so perfectly in tune with both it could not be denied its rightful place inside their shared continuum. Spock could have sworn he had tasted the something on his tongue. A connection like a photon torpedo hitting its mark. Strike! 

Later, other more immediate concerns had over-ridden it and the time for more scrutiny had slipped away. 

There were some things to regret of course in the final Vulcan act Spock was about to take but that was to be expected. Only one question remained, the only one that refused to leave his thoughts in peace: Would Kirk forgive him?

His comm. came alive with Chekov’s words. “Sir, Sarek requests you transport down.”  
STSTST

When Kirk awoke, he was quickly aware f three things; he was in Med-Bay, he had the world’s worst headache, and that Spock was not sitting by his side as the Vulcan had been the last time his captain had ended up on one of Bone’s miserable bio-beds. “Bones..?”

Kirk sat up and looked down. He was covered with only a single sheet and this time, bless McCoy’s generosity, he was not dressed in one of the awful medical gowns but the two-piece kind – trousers and tunic - that covered everything that was important to a captain’s modesty. “Bones..?”

Kirk swung his legs off the bed and stood, a little too quickly as dizziness almost took him to his knees. 

“Hey, get back in that bed, Jim - you are not cleared for duty.” McCoy finally made an appearance from the other end of his doctor’s on-board territory.

“When will I be? I feel fine.”

“Like hell.” McCoy moved to assist his captain to lie down again but Kirk stepped sideways and put the bed between them. He leaned on it to ease some of McCoy’s worry, better to keep him from forcing Kirk to lie down again which he was not going to fucking do. 

“Where’s Spock?”

McCoy went as still as a statue and Kirk’s hackles rose like the hair on a hound’s back. He was not angry. He was...fearful without knowing exactly why. “Where’s Spock Bones?” He asked, his voice brooking no equivocation. It was a demand. If he had to he’d make it an order.

“He’s on the planet.”

Kirk knew, again without knowing why, that was bad news. Very, very bad news. “Which planet?”

Bones actually fidgeted and then when he didn’t answer right away, Kirk raised his voice “Computer- what planet are we in orbi-?”

“New Vulcan.” McCoy said finally. “Spock’s down on the surface of New Vulcan.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed. Something was afoot and even McCoy was reluctant to tell him what. This was so very not good. “Why? Why is Spock on New Vulcan? I thought he was banned from ever setting foot there again? Why is he there now? What’s changed?” 

McCoy licked his lips. “Stol’hak’s dead.”

It was enough for Kirk to put it together, at least enough of ‘it’ that he could extrapolate what Stol’hak’s death might mean for Spock. He shook his head. “No.” That was an order and he was not giving it to McCoy or anyone else on board. “No,..just no-no-fucking-NO!” Not bothering to ask for a uniform Kirk strode to the exit and down the corridor with McCoy in tow. “Jim, you can’t go down there. It’s Vulcan business now and Spock wanted to go alone. It’s not our decision to make.”

Kirk spun on him, his face puce with rage, his eyes round with fear and want and determination. Kirk wanted this not to happen and true to a long line of Kirk’s he was damn well going to make sure it did not. Bones could see it in his captain’s eyes that Jim was not going to be deterred. “Screw you and screw all Vulcans everywhere. I am not going to let Spock -” Kirk suddenly made the decision that he was wasting his time standing in the corridor arguing about it. 

Kirk found his way to the nearest transporter bay and went to the controls to set them himself. “Where did he beam down? - the coordinates Bones!” 

McCoy slapped his right hand over Kirk’s arm that was reaching for the control panel. “Jim! You’re probably already too late.” He had not meant to say it, at least not like that, not to this man. Not to his friend. Not to Spock’s closest companion. And because Spock was a Vulcan - that was really saying something. 

Kirk’s already pale face turned ash-grey, swallowing hard once. And then the fear that had set in his baby-blues cleared, he set his jaw and whispered in a strangled voice, strangled but not weak. Not yet ready to capitulate to events beyond his direct control. In effect his captain was, as he often had, flipping the bird to the universe and to what anyone else thought. “Then it doesn’t matter if I go down and find out for myself, does it?” Dismissing McCoy with a turn of his head Kirk demanded “Computer what are the coordinates of Commander Spock’s last beam-down point.”

 

The pleasant disembodied voice of the ship’s computer answered calmly “That information is protected under the New Vulcan Privacy Governing Act.”

“Fuck privacy. Where did he beam down? Captain’s Authority Override Code JTK-5561-NCC-ENTERPRISE-1701!”

Unhurried, the computer answered “The coordinates are displayed on Screen One.”

Kirk set up a single the transporter pad, then entered a six second delay on the control panel and stepped onto the platform.

Bones thought to protest once more but then set his jaw. “Good luck Jim.” 

STSTST 

The tall commanding presence of Sarek of Vulcan was the first sight he saw when his body finished rematerializing. And then he saw where he was – on a high grass coated ridge above a nearby settlement. The wind was a cool breeze; the sun was shining through the thick layer of high fog. It was a fine day on New Vulcan.

Then he saw Spock. He was lying down on a simple platform of cut wood boards fastened together with rope. A small crowd of no doubt notable locals stood off to one side as Sarek, dressed in solemn robes of brown and black linen, was touching the side of his son’s face and Kirk knew why. A mind meld, but this one was different. This one would be final. This was unacceptable and he would not allow it.

So his mind screamed it first – 

NO!

And Spock turned his head toward him, although no one else had yet sensed his presence nor had even, despite Vulcan sensitive ears, heard the transporter beam. 

Kirk pushed his way through the small crowd of on-lookers and, in a boorish breach of protocol on New Vulcan - or on practically any other planet - shoved Sarek aside, severing the connection between father and son. “No! Spock, how...how cou- No, no, I...you can’t do this. Why would you-? You’re not doing this - I won’t let you! I fucking won’t let you do this.” Kirk then turned to snarl at Sarek “I thought you weren’t allowed to take Spock’s kaHtra? I thought he was too human for you?”  
Sarek, staring stunned at the scene before him, could only stammer “I spoke to them and they altered their decisions. They agreed providing it would be for a s-short time, until the clan could adopt it.”

“Yeah? Well fuck the clan!” Kirk said, hoping like the hell every last member heard him.

Spock shook off the restraints of his reduced consciousness that had spent hours preparing for the Ritual of KaHtra. Finally he managed to sit up, a bit slowly – a wash of emotion had come over him, probably from Jim being so nearby when his shields were all but down, crumbling in order to facilitate his father’s entry into his mind. 

Spock stared at his captain, knowing what a terrible breach of etiquette it was – Kirk being here, a non-Vulcan – at such a private ceremony. Once upon a time an outsider would have been tolerated but not since the Pure Blood Council had come to power on New Vulcan. Spock-son of Sarek-son of Stohne, was allowed because he was, in essence, shedding his hated hybrid body and leaving New Vulcan forever, leaving only his kaHtra behind in the safe keeping of his father and his clan.

At least that had been the reason for his presence until a short few seconds ago. “Captain, you cannot be here.”

Kirk ignored all eyes that stared in distaste at his emotional outburst. He grabbed Spock by his Vulcan robe and shook him. “Stol’hak dies so you come here in –what – some sort of Vulcan ritual surrender to the inevitable? Huh? You throwing in the towel already, is that it? I thought you had more guts than that!”

Spock was shaken to see the water pooling in Kirk’s eyes, and the anguish in his voice. Jim was dressed in the patient garb of the doctor’s Med-Bay, evidently having made an escape just to come here. Spock could feel his own emotions rising to the brim, threatening to over-flow, to flood him with shame. If his own tears began he knew he would not be able to stop them. He knew he would disgrace his father and his clan once last time before his death. “Please, captain, Jim...you do not understand...”

Kirk wasn’t about to have some pointless argument over Spock’s Vulcan relatives and their stoic Vulcan rituals. Kirk shook him again. “Fuck dying – take me.”

Spock stared at his captain, momentarily as dumbfounded as a Vulcan could be. Then he slowly shook his head. “You do not know what it is you are asking, Jim.”

“Yes I do. I want you. I’ll be your link, your intended, your betrothed - husband or what-ever-the-fuck label you want to slap on it. I want it.”

“No, captain, the Link is not something to take lightly. It is for a life-time, it is until death. Once linked it almost impossible to sever without many weeks of Vulcan Healer intervention and even then often it does not succumb. If anything happened to me – if I died while linked to you, it would most likely kill you...”

Kirk shook his head at that; shook it violently and Spock feared for this captain’s health. He was still recovering from a concussion. “I don’t care! You think the thought of you dying would be any less painful? Goddamn it Spock – I want you. Are you telling me you prefer death over taking a shot with me?” He paused and then added “I mean I know I’m a jackass but am I that bad?” 

Spock felt his whole body warmed by the words. And at Jim’s ability to figuratively pop the growing tension of a situation via his human brand of humor. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand over Kirk’s left forearm. “No, no, Jim you are not that bad.” And he knew by the expression on his captain’s face that his own eyes had become more animated by his human friend’s gentle tease. Always - that; Kirk managing to tap into Spock’s own humanity with a few self-depreciating words as though Jim was somehow speaking to both of them, the human Spock and the Vulcan Spock saying: You see? It is not so bad this being human. A thing we have in common. How easily Jim touched both sides of him. Over time Spock had found himself continuously surprised and entertained by it. 

Kirk was staring into his eyes, knowing he was winning over his first officer. Spock knew it also. Join with this arrogant, frustrating human who emoted all over the ship? Perhaps. 

But...“What will be the parameters?”

Kirk’s brows shot straight up forehead. “What? Ah, parameters..?”

Spock steeple-ed his fingers beneath his chin as he contemplated the possibilities, and potential liabilities, of such a union. “We need to establish beforehand the parameters of the physical side of this link that you propose. You are human and might require conjugative acts with which I am not familiar; things you may have to teach me as I am inexperienced. For example -”

“Um, Spock...” Kirk suddenly remembered they were being observed by no less than twenty Vulcans, none at that moment looking upon him with favour. He lowered his voice significantly and leaned in to speak in Spock’s left ear, ignorant to the shiver his breath suddenly caused, erupting up and down his First’s spine. “What say we have this next talk on the ship?”

Spock gathered his wanton emotions under some semblance of control as they had gone a bit feral over the thought of Kirk’s lips in other places where Vulcan’s were most sensitive. Still, it was not an unwelcomed turn of thought. 

Spock pulled up one corner of his lip, as close to a smile as he ever let himself approach. “A highly logical suggestion Captain.”

Spock rose to join his captain but not before his father stepped forward. Out of respect for the captain Spock walked a few paces away but not too far away, in order to speak openly with his father but in the hearing of all present. 

“Spock, are you certain of this decision? To join with a human in The Link?”

Sarek’s voice held no derision, he was simply asking after fact. Spock was his son, no matter the Vulcan Councils’ bigoted opinions.

Spock tucked his hands behind him, gathering his Vulcan mental controls so he could address his father without a tremor in his voice. “As with so many things of late that have been in conflict, father, I am not entirely certain of my logic in this decision. Not as yet. But it is preferable over my death.” Which should be obvious even to the most traditional and dispassionate Vulcan in their midst. 

Sarek nodded, and did his eyes warm just a little, over his son who would now live among humans for the rest of his life, who would most likely never return to New Vulcan? Spock thought they did.

“As do I my son.” Sarek answered and then his brows drew together in a very human showing of concern. “You realise if you link with James Kirk I will not be in a position to carry your kaHtra should...the situation arise.”

No, Sarek would not be allowed. Spock and Jim’s minds would be linked, each spilling over into the other during life and remnants of each carried over even after the death of the body, a contamination in the eyes of the Pure Blood Council. Sarek would be forbidden to take up a kaHtra so tainted, not even from his own son. 

“I realise.” Spock admitted. It did not matter. Jim had proved himself worth the sacrifice. Spock did not care than the eyes of the elite of New Vulcan were upon him. He would not shame his captain and his friend - his betrothed. “But even so, I still choose Jim Kirk.”

“Your choice of betrothed is, as you have always been, unorthodox yet..., Sarek squinted, “one of acceptable quality.” It was as high a praise as Spock had ever received from his father, who was, after all, fully Vulcan and set in the ways of his ultra-orthodox clan. Sarek was who he was, as Spock was who he was. IDIC applied. 

At the reminder of him Spock, as he stood for one last time on the surface of New Vulcan, offered a silent and respectful farewell to Stol’hak. This planet which had never been his home had been home to Stol’hak. Stol’hak who, due to the manner and locale’ of his death, had been denied the giving of his kaHtra to any. Stol’hak had died truly alone. He had deserved better. 

Ironically, due to Stol’hak’s untimely death, Spock had been spared that eventuality. And now he would even have life and a betrothed, his – he made efforts to use Federation Standard – husband. He counted himself as fortunate as any Vulcan alive.

Spock pulled himself from his momentary contemplation and turned to see Jim waiting for him at the beam-down coordinates. He raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper father. Please convey the same to Thy’ssa.” She was and would always remain a virtual stranger to him, but it would be rude not offer greeting. 

“Live long and prosper my son.”

Spock went to take his place beside his captain, as he had many times before, and as he now unquestionable always would in the future. Their future. 

Always.

Kirk smiled, nodding at him encouragingly. Spock decided to offer his own sort of affirmation. He took Kirk’s right hand in his left, linking two of his fingers with his captain’s. Jim only stiffened in surprise for a second or two and then he took hold in return with strength and purpose. Spock was not at all surprised by that. 

Then Kirk assumed his role once more as captain of the Enterprise. “Mister Chekov - two to beam up.”

STSTST 

“Bones’s been feeding me data...” Kirk stumbles into a conversation as he and Spock enter his quarters. He figures they ought to get it over-with as soon as possible, because good stuff comes after. “You know...information about Vulcans and mating rituals and all that.”

Spock allows a frown and a single eyebrow rising almost to his hairline. “Doctor McCoy?” Naturally. Who else aboard does the captain refer to as ‘Bones’?

Kirk took a seat at his desk and Spock noted the stiff posture and how Kirk’s eyes looked everywhere but at him. Jim was manifesting the tell tale signs of nervous tension. “Captain, if you are having second thoughts...” Spock knew humans often agreed to things in the ‘heat of a moment’ while later regretting such agreements.

“No, Spock, no second thoughts, I’m just, not sure how this is all going to go.”

“I will take you through the Link, you will have to do nothing but be present. I shall have to touch you of course - it shall only take a few moments...” He bit his lip, a human gesture with which he had struggled with over the years, one he had yet to conquer. “As you are human the Link will have to be placed deeply, deeper than is customary.”

He observed Kirk as Kirk took a deep breath and released it. Another sign of tension. “You are...” He was going to say ‘afraid’ but thought better of it. Kirk would most likely protest, “worried.” Spock offered.

“A little,” Kirk admitted, rubbing a hand through his hair, “yeah.”

Spock was now not entirely certain that accepting the captain’s offer to Link was in both their best interests. For a certainty if the Link did not take, Spock would die when his Pon Farr hit full force, which was now imminent. He chose not to remind the captain of that fact. Spock took a seat opposite his friend. “What troubles you?”

“Um, how do...I guess I’d like to know...do Vulcans...get together...” He stopped, appearing frustrated at himself. “How often...” Kirk took another deep breath but this time got it out “Do Vulcans really only have sex every seven years?”

Spock contemplated his captain and the persistent misinformation that still circulated among the Federation worlds, due in part to the Vulcan xenophobia of sharing with foreigners anything even remotely considered private. “That is not accurate. The Pon Farr – the biological imperative – to mate arrives approximately every seven years for most Vulcans. Sexual desire can occur at regular intervals, any time a Vulcan so desires or feels the need.” 

Kirk appeared to relax considerably at that. “Look, Spock I’ve read quite a bit about this Pon Farr but I’m no closer to understanding what’s going to happen, not really. The texts are pretty vague, even the ones from New Vulcan.”

“I shall soon enter the blood Fever – the Plak’Toh – and will become insensible to my surroundings. During those hours my emotions will come to the fore. This is a time where your assistance will be invaluable.”

“What do I do?”

“Jim, under normal circumstances my strength is three times your own, during the Blood Fever, that will increase. Without your intervention I could possible hurt myself in my rages, my...needs...” Spock looked at his own folded hands. He had never had to speak openly of this before. It was more difficult than he had expected, even to his own Intended. “My physical need for you will grow until...and if it is not...provided for, I could literally tear myself apart seeking for it.” 

Kirk swallowed. “So it can get a bit...rough.” Then he smiled mischievously. “I think I’m game.”

Spock spoke more sharply “This is not a matter for amusement, Jim. The physical risk to you is not inconsiderable. You are not Vulcan.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Kirk asked. 

His captain was certainly attempting to appear ‘game’, Spock mused. “That we will have to discuss with Doctor McCoy.”

STST

“Once I am in the Plak’Toh, doctor, you must administer a sedative to reduce my strength at the appropriate interval.”

Bones nodded and all the while he listened to Spock, he understood that it would probably not be enough. “I can’t give you too high a dose, Spock, or it could negatively interact with your Vulcan hormones which will be going wacko. You could become paranoid, lose consciousness or even suffer a seizure.”

“I understand. Keep the dose as minimal as possible. If my physical strength is reduced, there is less likely-hood that the captain will be injured while I am going, as you say, ‘whacko’.”

“Jim, you’ll have to call me when you think he’s close.” McCoy instructed. “I can come right away and administer the correct dose.”

“That is acceptable.” Spock said not noticing Kirk’s mouth dropping open at the word ‘injured’. “Uh, Bones can I talk to you for a second?” Kirk asked, tweaking a thumb over his shoulder.

Kirk drew the doctor to the other side of the room, well away from powerful lurking Vulcan ears. McCoy held up a hand to quell Kirk’s sudden look of alarm. “I know what you’re about to ask and yes, you could get hurt,” McCoy announced, “but I’ve got an ace in the hole for you, plus I figured you want to know anyway.” He pulled a tiny flash-crystal from his pocket and palmed it to him. “I got this from a Vulcan healer who, believe it or not, owed me a favour. Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Vulcan sexuality but were too smart to ask.” 

Kirk slipped it into his pocket. “What’s on it?”

“How to handle a sex-mad male Vulcan in the pits of Pon Farr, that’s what. You’re nuts to go through with this but I can’t damn you for your reasons. Just trust me Jim and read it carefully, you’ll thank me later. That and the injection ought to keep you safe.”

“Completely?”

“Safer than without it.”

Jim then smirked a bit. “Sex-mad?” He asked, his head filling with visions of Spock in a towel and the towel slipping from his hips and the wet, hot Vulcan reaching for him with burning intent in those black, smoldering eyes and those long, sensuous fingers wrapping around certain parts of his captain’s anatomy and those fucking delicate ears that just demanded to be licked and nibbled on...

“Jim!” McCoy whispered in a choked disapproval. “Keep it for your quarters for god’s sake, you’re giving me hives.”

Kirk ignored the slight and walked over to join Spock who was waiting patiently by the far exit. Kirk glanced around, there was no one else in Med-Bay except Spock and himself and Bones, who was now turned toward one of his medical monitors doing only doctor’s-knew-what. They were, to all intents and purposes, alone.

Kirk decided right then, while they had a modicum of privacy, that turn-about was fair play because he could not get his mind off that Vulcan finger touch thing Spock had shared with him on the planet. A gesture Kirk had since learned was the Vulcan equivalent of a kiss. The tingles under his skin had lasted for hours.

Kirk stepped up to his Vulcan-human-hybrid, his First Officer, his friend, his Intended, cupped his right hand around the back of Spock’s neck and pulled him down into a short but unmistakably passionate human kiss. When he released him he whispered in his ear. “Come on, my quarters, right now.”

STSTST

 

A few hours were spent in companionable silence where Kirk took the opportunity to read over the information on the crystal drive Bones had given him. Mostly methods by which a sex0hungry Vulcan might be manipulated and placated if things got a bit too rough. He couldn’t wait to try some of them out. 

Then when the blood fever had risen and filled Spock with a deadly silence as his eyes rolled over white and Kirk stared almost too stricken by the sight to move, he called McCoy who arrived seemingly out of nowhere to administer the carefully measured sedative. Once Spock was injected with the prescribed shot and the doctor had left...

 

Spock leaped across the room, pushing Jim up against the bulkhead of his captain’s quarters. Spock drove his nostrils into the nape of the human neck until they touched skin to skin, and smelled his human prise, drawing in many indulgent lung-full’s until his Vulcan senses were satisfied. “I will Link with you now,” Spock whisper-growled into the Captain’s right ear. “We shall Link and you will be no more my Intended but truly T’hy’la – Mine. Mine for-all-time-Jim-so-o-o-o-f-f-f-i-n-n-nnghnnn...” 

Kirk started in bemused wonder at the rhymes suddenly spilling out of Spock’s mouth. “Um, S-Spock, um, a-aren’t we supposed to mind-meld or something firs? –AH!” He gasped at the Vulcan hand that decided to dip beneath the barrier of his captain’s tunic and run its fingers along his naked rib-cage. 

“We are,” Spock whispered as his other hand tickled at Kirk’s temple, scrambling to find the psi-points that would let him access the deepest parts of Kirk’s psyche. “It has begun-nnnngnn...Jim-m-m-m, my Inten-n-n-ded...” If Kirk had not been present to hear it, he would not have believed it but Spock was purring! “H-holy fu-u-uck...” Kirk tried to swallow but couldn’t. Tried to struggle against the powerful mind of his Vulcan night-time fantasies – just to see if he could! – But gave it up as useless. 

The purr, the fucking purr was a sex act in and of itself! “Oh-my-god-Spock-oh-my-Christ-oh-my-god...” He was babbling. Spock had not told him the Link itself would be so...so...sexual! It was a vibration from deep in the Vulcan’s throat and played across all of Kirk’s physical senses until he was a quivering lump in the Vulcan’s long fingers. He was instantly hard as fucking marble and then all Kirk could think was Please-please-God!-please wrap that fucking perfect mouth around my cock right fucking now or I’m going to fucking scream! 

“Yes, my human-n-n-n-my-life-my-blood-my-Jim-Jim-Jim-mine-mine-mine...”

Kirk felt the tickle at his mind, it was a sweet, siren song, it was Vulcan and human and alien and fucking mind-blowing subversive, mental-subterranean sexual heat and all in an instant, knocking over and through every mind barrier he had ever erected and then some. It was incredible – like the best of the best of drugs but for his thoughts alone. Only his. 

And Kirk felt himself open under that voice like a flower, like a virgin whore! “Christ...” It was unbelievably intense and sexual and sensual and urgent and he wanted-wanted-wanted-like-nothing-he-had-ever-wanted-in-his-life-not-even-the-seduction-of-the-Enterprise-and-her-pulsing-metallic-life-beneath-his-naked-feet-had-he-wanted-anything-so-badly-not-like-this-nothing-like-this-as-full-and-complete-and-forever-and-ever-who-would-ever-ever-want-to-give-this-up??! 

“Christ...Spock,” He whispered back. “Oh-my’G-please tell me this is not foreplay, Spock? Spock muh-m-m-y-y-lov-v-v-v-e ‘cause if it is you’re going to ki-l-l-l-l-l me...” He would die happy in that second. He would cast himself on a fucking sword if it meant he could feel like this for the rest of his natural – and by comparison boring! Boring-oh-so-empty-stupid-boring! –so-called life.

Spock whispered words in Jim’s ear in Vulcan that Jim did not understand but he didn’t fucking care anyway, and the words themselves, whatever they meant, somehow sent another tsunami of physical desire – “Christ!” Kirk howled but softly, only for his Intended’s ears-his-beautiful-pointed-sexy-ears-that-I-love/want-to-lick-so-badly-I-love-I-love-so-much-oh-God.... “This’s ‘nbelieva-ah!-Spock-my-love-my-love-incredib’-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-youuuu...” 

Spock’s voice whispered-shouted in his mind, until it echoed in his thoughts and flew across a bottomless chasm he did not know was there; a rift in his soul; a valley of fire and pain that Spock’s voice was entering and echoing back and forth within, and through, and then the Voice/Mind/Link/Soul/Life/Love –Spock-My-Th’y’la! was closing the chasm, closing it, filling it in, filling in the void, filling it, until The Replete was accomplished, until...until the Void/Chasm/Mind/Link/Soul/Life/Love was full and then soil formed over it and grass grew and flowers blossomed and birds filled the air singing songs no-one else in creation had ever heard or ever would again except for them, and then a new star appeared and shone in a newly born sky that no one had ever seen before or ever would see again except for them, and it was all new, it was all tender-born and shining-brightly just for them, and then Kirk understood, it was...for him and only and ever for him, for Jim Kirk, and it was perfect, perfect, so perfect.... “Oh-h-h Spock I love you so much my love-my-love...”

 

And then it was over and Kirk was standing in his quarters against the bulkhead and Spock was drawing his hand away from his temple and watching him with such a human tenderness and with such perfect Vulcan-mode consideration for his well-being, Kirk thought he might weep from it. It was a duality made perfect. How could he, or anyone, have ever seen anything but perfection in this simple Vulcan from a dead world? Fools - all of them. 

And then Kirk’s eye-sight and his other senses cleared just a bit and came back from the beautiful and perfect abyss just enough, with just the right amount of clarity in the present here and now to ask “Spock, are we..?”

“We are linked now, yes, Jim.” The Vulcan answered calmly and cocked his head. “Are you...all right?”

And Jim Kirk felt a kind of hysterical sorrow come over him for all those other people who had never had the opportunity – the privilege, the sheer un-earned, undeserved privilege and joy – the fucking life-affirming gift! - of linking with any Vulcan – but most especially with this Vulcan. He felt sorry for them, because none had. Stol’hak had come close but instead it had fallen to him - to Jim Kirk. Spock was his Vulcan, his Link, his - Oh Christ! - his Love and his Life and what a reward, what an incredible prise was now his! This Vulcan they all called hybrid and half-breed and thought tainted – those fucking idiots! Kirk whispered “Spock...” He had no words for it, no words...but Spock

Was his.

Spock was his for all time! 

This Vulcan others - for whatever their moronic reasons - had rejected or scorned or dismissed...

Belonged to him. 

Him of all people....

I of all people...

And James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the star ship Enterprise bent at the waist and laughed and laughed and laughed at all those stupid, stupid fools! 

STSTST  
Part VIII asap *smile*


	8. Part VIII

Evidence of the Figurative Part VIII

By GE Waldo

Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe

Rating: Adult/slash

Pairing: Kirk/Spock - eventually. Slow build.

Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and the best decision of his life.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

(I waited a week to post this out of respect for Mister Nimoy and his family. A story about Spock getting it on with Kirk seemed too crass to post the weekend of Leonard's passing). 

This chapter is dedicated to Mister Leonard Nimoy who, for forty-nine years brought us one of the most respected and deeply loved characters in all of television, movie and entertainment history. Go boldly Leonard of Earth, Spock of Vulcan, where others have gone before you; your new mission has begun...

**The following is explicit material of man-on-man action. Do not read if you do not like!

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

After laughing himself silly, Kirk wrapped one arm around his waist and managed to re-gather a modicum of dignity. Wiping at his eyes, he looked over at his First Officer with whom he was now The-Forever-Bonded-One – this is so weird! He had actually heard the Vulcan term in his head – in Vulcan no less - while they were Linked and understood it even though if asked, he would not be able to reproduce it verbally. Kirk had learned to pronounce no more than two or three words in Vulcan during all his years in Star Fleet despite having a Vulcan First Officer, something he really ought to take time to correct now, since he was in possession of a Vulcan husband – at the last thought Kirk froze in place once more- stunned to silence by it! He was now married for God's sake, to a Vulcan! It was terrifying and altogether too fantastic for words!

Still - what a lame-ass term to call what he had just experienced – 'The Link', so fucking Vulcan-typical – so insanely inadequate as to be not in the same fucking universe to what he had just experienced Jesus-Joseph and-Mary-that-was-intense! What a hot-burning-scalding trip down foreplay-lane it had been...

"Jim..."

Kirk smiled at his lovely, lovely First Officer standing not six feet away from him – God he's gorgeous! Kirk had thought this before, at this time or that, of his first Officer but now, he was blown away by him. There was something deadly and dangerously feline about Spock, something wild and untamed, all sheathed claws and barely hidden fangs. But there also existed, he now knew first hand, a part of him that was soft and yielding too, like a warm, soapy bath. Spock was a magnificent contradiction; all that logic and all that passion rolled into one tightly packed, sharply intelligent package. What a lucky son-of-a-bitch-I-am.

Then Kirk verbalized such thoughts his usual, succinct way - "Fuck me!" Spock was too far away, standing over there. I think I'll just tackle him once I get my breath back.

"Jim..." Spock growl-purred-whispered, "You do realise that this was just a temporary calm..."

Kirk looked, really looked this time, into his Vulcan's eyes and his heart began a base-drum roll in his chest at what he saw there. A dark passage into a part of his Vulcan first Officer he had never known existed. A deep, black, smoldering furnace of lust, and it was focused - in all its millennial eons of all the lusting Vulcans who had ever lusted - on him.

Spock attacked him once more.

This time he grabbed Jim's wrists in a grip of iron and shoved him once again against the bulkhead. "You realise what is coming next, don't you?"

Kirk struggled in vain to get free, even though in the warm pool of his belly he was enjoying the rough treatment. It was hot, if only he could get his hands free to return the favour and put into practise some of those Vulcan subduing techniques Bones had furtively passed to him on that blessed data-crystal. If he could just wriggle even one hand to grasp Spock's right ear – or left - just the right way. Two hands would be better but –

"Do you not?" Spock said into his ear when the captain was too slow answering his question.

Kirk pressed his lips together and then licked them. "Not exactly but I think I have a pretty good idea...if you would just -"

"No." That was a command, a veritable Vulcan edict. "I am Vulcan. I am your Vulcan. You are my T'hy'la therefore you may not leave." Spock nuzzled into his throat again and that incredible cock-hardening purr erupted once more from some place deep, between the Vulcan's upper chest/throat. What had Vulcans evolved from anyway? Kirk wondered. Maybe Spock was feline. He'd have to do some studying - "Spock!" He said sharply, making it a command, or as close to a command as was possible when one's clothes were being tugged at by hot demanding hands.

"You may perhaps make suggestions and I shall decide whether or not to allow them." He whispered resolutely into Kirk's ear before biting down on his neck, a little too hard for Kirk's comfort.

"Hey-!" Kirk struggled harder. "That hurt mister." He sucked in air because the room seemed to be suddenly far too warm and sultry. Then he realized it was the combination of the room itself – when had Spock raised the ambient temperature? - And Spock's fevered skin pressed against his – And when had Spock had a moment to take get his shirt off? Because he felt very silky, very naked Vulcan skin - Je-zuz! - against his own abdomen. "I wasn't ah!-actually thinking of l-leaving..." Kirk assured him. Get all shy at the cusp of what he expected was going to be the best sex of his entire life?He wasn't an idiot!

Spock drew back his head so he could peer directly into Kirk's blue eyes with his unblinking, other-worldly black ones. "There is no 'figurative' here, Jim-m-m-m...," He then returned to rubbing his nose into the now broken skin at Jim's throat, and Kirk realised holy shit –he's marking himself with my scent. That is so fucking hot! And Spock was purring again, his words coming out in a moist throaty rumble like marbles softly tumbling over a curve of velvet. "Now there is only the typical, only the real, only us-s-s..." He smiled. Spock of Vulcan actually smiled. A predatory pulling back of his lips to reveal a full, even set of sparkling white teeth bordered by overly sharp canines that Kirk had never noticed before; probably because his First never had smiled. In that instant the Vulcan reminded Kirk of a horny lion with its jaws open, sniffing the air, trying to catch the sugary scent of its mate. "You are mine now."

Spock then released Jims' arms long enough to use his hands to tear Jim's clothing to pieces like it was made from tissue paper, letting the shreds fall around them like confetti. Stepping back the Vulcan shed the rest of his own coverings, which consisted of his trousers and a pair of clinging underwear, but doing so with far less violence, leaving them more-or-less intact but dropping them to the floor in a highly atypical manner. Not so would the non-Pan Farr Spock treat his things is such a manner. Somehow Spock had already shed his boots. His feet were sockless.

Kirk could not help but stare at the naked Vulcan standing only inches from him. His alien skin flushed the colour of watered-down teal, his breaths coming hard and fast, his eyes roaming over Kirk's own golden nudity with a hunger Kirk had not thought possible for such a – previously assumed – sexually dull-as-beans race as the emotionless Vulcans. But then that's why assumptions were foolish. Who would have thought...

Spock only allowed Kirk the briefest of reprieves before he, somehow with a speed and grace that was too fast for Kirk to actually see in any detail so foggy was his head with sex hormones and the anticipation of more, that Spock had reached down, grabbed his thighs with each of his hands and hoisted Kirk up once more against the bulkhead – Spock seemed to really approve of that bulkhead – until Kirk's back was firmly pressed against it and his lower legs dangled freely in between himself and his horny husband - can't get used to that word! 

Spock then, to Kirk's surprise and fear and delight, forced his knees apart and pressed his own groin against his captain's.

Kirk swallowed his spit, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. He could feel Spock's respectable erection playing against his own; could feel their disparate heart-beats - his a pounding base drum and Spock's a staccato - with each twitch of their cocks. Kirk kept his ocean-blue eyes fixed firmly on Spock's tarry black ones as he licked his lips and, almost challenging his mate to stop his hand, reached between them and aligned their penises.

Spock watched, clearly fascinated by it and, once Kirk had completed the little maneuver, something in Spock's eyes...

Changed.

Spock leaned in and this time, instead of nuzzling Kirk's neck, laid his lips over Kirk's and kissed him very tenderly. The human kiss was a thing not done in Vulcan sexual practices but then Kirk reminded himself that Uhura must have taught Spock a thing or two because as kisses went it was pretty good for a novice. Kirk realised Spock was compromising; giving him something human in all the tangle of Vulcan intimacies that had thus far passed between them.

Spock wedged himself even closer against Kirk and then, despite the good doctor's intra-muscular sedative, in a remarkable feat of Vulcan strength, positioned his left well muscled thigh beneath his captain's right one, propping him up as though he weighed next to nothing. Using his right hand he gripped Kirk beneath his left thigh to support that leg as well, keeping his captain firmly in place. Then Spock turned his hips until his pelvis was at a thirty degree angle to the bulkhead - giving himself room, Kirk supposed. Not surprising really that his brilliant – sexy-sexy-fuck-so-sexy! - Vulcan would in seconds utilize angles and weights and proportions and come up with the precise, mathematically engineered position in order to most efficiently facilitate fucking someone into a wall!

Kirk was proven right when Spock's left hand wrap around Kirk's penis and began a rhythmic stroking that sent Kirk's head slamming back against the wall and his hands scrambling to find purchase on Spock's powerful shoulders. Just somewhere to put them or he might touch the wrong part of Spock – too soon to man-handle that gorgeous Vulcan cock – not yet-not yet Kirk, wait, for fuck's sake, wait or you'll undo all this crazy hot horny shit going on - "O-oh f-fu-uck-k Spock-k...mngh-ngh, je-sus-o-m'go-Spock-oh-yeah-right-ther-like-that-yes-yes-oh-chrst-baby-yes..."

Spock with a loving human-like touch and Vulcan-perfect meticulousness, stroked Kirk until he was squirming and panting and biting his lip and throwing his head around and almost, almost, right-on-the-edge-now-right-on-the-fucking-edge-now-oh-yes-yes-spock-love-baby-fuck-my-perf-perfect-Vulcan-love-yes-yes-yes-God-yes!...right on the edge of coming.

And just, just at the exact moment that his balls began to tuck themselves up closer to his anatomy, tight and full and ready to burst!, Spock, in some born-contortionist's maze of limbs and hands, took Kirk's left leg and wrapped it around his hip, then laid his right hand flush with the psi-points on Kirk's face and temple, melding their minds together in seconds so Kirk could feel not only the physical release of his orgasm, but the deep sexually-yes-but-loving feelings of his T'hy'la at the precise moment he came. And not only that...

While Spock purred in his ear and sent crashing seas of love over and through his human heart and soul, Kirk's eyes bugged out of his skull at the sensation of seeing himself in Spock's mind as his orgasm hit full force – and the love, the treasure - the everything - he was in his Vulcan's eyes/mind. As his body released its fluids and they coated their abdomens, Spock's mind released images of he and Kirk together in this physical way, and together in mind, each watching the other as they watched themselves all the while Kirks orgasm seemed to go on and on, pulse after pulse of sex and release (while love, so much love, was somehow pouring into him, filling him), until he wondered if he had any more liquid in his body at all, or any more love in his heart left to offer in return.

But yes he did, for both were still present as his heart was still present. The sensation of being treasured and cherished and wanted lingered between them long after Spock's hand had stilled and long after his penis had spent itself and was drooping.

It was almost too much for words. In all his years of human schooling Kirk had not learned a phrase or definition good enough to describe what had just happened between them, or a method to contain the emotions and the sheer dizzying depths of the love he felt from Spock at that moment. Because he knew then, in that Now (that Kirk understood to his core was, yes, momentary in their physical premium, but which the proposition of all other forms of love would never come to an end), that Spock loved him more than any other thing in existence. Spock – his T'hy'la - would die for him and most of all, would live for him for as long as their mutual forever continued. Most of all it put to shame all the flowers and rings and words of promise he had ever heard in the few human weddings he had attended.

Kirk came down from his orgasm in descending plateaus of after-glow. Finally he opened his eyes to find Spock looking back at him with his seeming fierce yet gentle expression, so very darkly Vulcan but also kind and sparkling with...with what had to be love – which seemed impossible for a Vulcan, Kirk thought, yet he was doing it...all the while Kirk could feel Spock's taut body still up against his own, his full arousal now pressed firmly into Kirk's softening one. It was fifty kinds of alien/human erotic. It was a fucking trip!

"How are you T'hy'la?" Spock asked in the most affectionate whisper that it had to be one for the books. "Are you well?"

Kirk had to blink a few times to clear his own sweat from his eyes and realised that Spock was coherent again. But it was probably only a temporary lull. Had to be. Spock hadn't even touched himself yet and neither had Kirk. That was about to be rectified as soon as he could make his limbs work again.

Spock's delicately upswept brows then twitched together at his captain's continued quiet. "Jim...? Did...did that not please you?"

Kirk was certain his legs would never be the same. Committing to memory where he was and who had brought him to the most spectacular orgasm of his life, he also suddenly realised that his hands were free. "Did that not please me?" He repeated and shook his head. Chuckling softly, his weak, lump of a body shook a little in Spock's arms, the back of his skull lolling against the wall; his neck felt like it was made of boiled asparagus. Then James Kirk smiled at his Vulcan; his husband.

Jesus, that sounds great. I love that! 'Husband', 'husband'...It was very fine.

"You know, you Vulcans have everyone fooled." Kirk informed him softly, keeping his voice low and guttural, trying to affect his own brand of purr. "Pretending to be so devoid of emotion, so upright and logical...and it's true, very true, but still...what a disguise..." He slowly divested himself from off the wall and Spock took the hint, letting him down so he could stand on his own.

Then Kirk, after a luxurious little stretch all the while keeping his eyes firmly on the body of his very naked First Officer sporting a very obvious hard-on, closed the distance between their bodies, slowly so not to spook him because Spock must be still riding high on Pon Farr emotions, most of his logic and reason left far behind. What had McCoy said? That Pon Farr could last hours and hours, sometimes days?

Kirk, you're a lucky man.

Because that was very fine too. Kirk was sort of counting on it actually, though he had not expected this level of Vulcan rut so soon. Yet Spock seemed temporarily mesmerised by Kirk's approach and Kirk reminded himself that Spock had not been with a human before (other than Uhura's mostly superficial relationship; probably just kissing. He felt sorry for her), just as he had never been with a Vulcan. There were surprises in store for both.

To cement the idea that he was not helpless in the Vulcan's hands, and just as hungry for Spock as Spock clearly was for him, Kirk, fast like a strike of a Mantis to a cricket on a twig, reached out and grabbed hold of either side of Spock's skull, wrapping the fingers of both hands around, letting his thumbs lie against the soft cartilage of his ears and pressing his four fingertips into the soft flesh just behind them, into the nerve bundles nestled just below the surface.

The effect was instantaneous! Spock threw back his head, a soft gasp escaping his lips, then he began to purr like a kitten at its mother's teat, his arms going limp but struggling to find support on Jim's torso, on his shoulder or arms - anywhere to anchor himself so he did not sink to the floor. Kirk grinned with delight. Score one for that captain.

"Mmmm...You really like that don't you?" He whispered sweetly making sure his breath played over Spock's right ear as he continued to press tiny circular movements into the nerve bundles behind both. McCoy's little bits of information on the crystal drive were coming in real handy. "Yeah...wow, Spock, that mid-sex meld link-thingy was nothing less than incredible but still...no...I don't think you have any idea how sexy you are to me. That fucking purr- Jesus – you have no clue how kinky that is do you? Probably not, you Vulcans just take things in stride I guess, with each other I mean, all logical and stuff, even when you're in love...but you're with me now. Things are going to be different. In a good way. I promise. Because I want you so bad..." Kirk pressed the tips of his fingers gently into the flesh behind Spock's ears, just a tad harder and Spock's legs almost went out underneath him.

"H-how did y-you...?"

Kirk shook his head. "No, no, just...no...shhhhh...Jim's here now." He tucked his mouth against Spock's right ear – he had to stretch a bit to reach it - and tongued it at his pleasure, eliciting soft gasps from his mate as he spoke words that just came out of him, from everywhere, from nowhere, but from somewhere deep, tumbling out in between thorough licks and nibbles. "My turn, Spock, so be quiet 'cause...'cause it's my turn...I want to fuck you so badly...oh-my-guh-so-badly...Jesus, Spock...beautiful...naked...soft...T'hy'la..."

Kirk pushed firmly against Spock's chest to get him to walk backwards toward the Starfleet Issue single bed. What Kirk wanted to do required a soft surface for his knees. Once he had the back of Spock's legs against the edge he gave him a final shove and Spock sat down. His Vulcan found his voice "Jim, I do not...what I believe you are suggesting is...I have never..."

"Mm...what?" Kirk continued to kiss his face; cheek, jaw, temple, eyes, brows, all over, wanting to taste every spot on him. He intended to work his way down a bit once Spock was settled on his back. "Don't Vulcans practise penetrative sex?"

"I have never..."

"Don't worry...I know exactly what to do, how to get you ready...it won't hurt."

"That is not what concerns me -"

"Spock - you'll love it, I promise."

"This is ...unusual..."

"But it feels so good." Kirk took Spock's ankles and by gentle pressure encouraged Spock to bend his legs. He could feel the tension in his mate and stopped kissing him to look at him. "Spock. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You could hardly hurt me."

"Then what are you worried about?"

"I am a Vulcan male; it is my responsibility to...lead our...activities."

"You mean because I'm human?" Kirk shook his head a little and went back to kissing and nibbling at whatever Vulcan skin was within reach of his tongue. "What do you Vulcans do when you're with the same sex? Draw straws?"

"No, in that instance we decide before-hand. One partner is often less...aggressive than the other."

"Very prosaic but here's the thing - you may be the Vulcan in this equation but I'm the captain and I say this round is mine. Unless you intend to argue with your superior officer."

Spock seemed to have no idea what to say to that. "There is another consideration."

"Boy, you Pon Farr fellows talk way more than I thought you would."

"It is important for you to rest in between. I could wear you out."

"You shameless tease."

"Jim, this is serious. If you do not get sufficient time to recover between...sessions, I could end up hurting you."

"I'm not lying on a psychiatrist's couch, Spock, I'm about to fuck you here from here to Andromeda – so stop calling our wild sex-capades "sessions", but if it'll make you happy I'll rest after this 'session', okay?"

Spock considered his captain's words and, evidently making a decision, wrapped his legs around Kirk's waist in a contortionist maneuver than sent Kirk's heart racing. "That is acceptable. Proceed."

"Thought you'd never ask." Kirk left off nuzzling his nose into his mate's feather of chest hair and reached over to a small side table with one drawer, extracting a small tube of something. "We'll need a bit more help this time." He squeezed a coin sized amount onto his palm and tossed the cap-less tube to the floor, earning him an irritated frown from Spock which he quelled with one of his own. "Pay attention Spock." He gently scolded.

Spock turned his gaze back to his captain with anticipation and wonder. He of course understood the mechanics behind what Kirk was planning but had never indulged in such himself - not even out of curiosity. Prior to Pon Farr there had simply been no purpose to it. He realised now he had some cause to regret such indifference as his inexperience might bring Jim disappointment. "What do I need to do T'hy'la?" He asked.

His Jim smiled seductively. "Just lie there looking sexy and try to relax."

He had no idea how to 'look sexy' other than being nude but when Spock felt the first of Jim's slippery fingers penetrate him all coherent thought left him. Kirk made some haste in adding another finger when it was clear he was causing no discomfort to his Vulcan partner.

"You cannot hurt me Jim." Spock reminded him when it seemed Kirk was taking more time than necessary.

Kirk withdrew his fingers and slid one hand down the outside of Spock's right thigh, smearing a bit of the lube around. "Ready?"

"Jim, I am lying underneath you with me legs spread. I am obviously ready."

"Smart ass." Kirk lined up with Spock's hole and pushed until he was passed the ring of muscle, settling deep into his mate. "Wrap your legs around me again." His whispered into Spock's ear.

Once Spock was in position, Kirk began to thrust very slowly. "I'm inside you now Spock." Kirk smiled to himself because although his head was turned to the side still he could almost see Spock's little frown of confusion and could almost hear the Vulcan's unspoken opinion of the redundancy of human language, was he able to speak passed the new sensations Kirk knew he was experiencing.

Redundant language, though, at least with humans, had its uses. Kirk whispered again as he thrust, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. He knew he would not be able to duplicate the intensity of Spock's little mind-link-during-sex thing, but he still had a trick or two up his sleeve. "I'm going to fill you up, Spock," he said into the Vulcan's right ear again, making his voice a commanding whisper. "I'm going to come inside you and you'll carry me with you all day tomorrow. And when you're empty, I'm going to fill you again, and again and again." Kirk spoke in between kisses and licks at that ear until Spock was writhing helplessly.

Kirk smiled. Perfect.

"But that's not all. In fact I'm going to keep you fat with my come so no matter where you go you'll be reminded of me fucking you just like I am now. I'm going to make it my personal commitment to pump you full of me at every opportunity – are you hearing me Mister Spock? Are you listening T'hy'la?"

Kirk increased his thrusts until he could feel the heat pooling in his belly and with his thrusts his words came faster and harsher, so his lovely, wriggling, moaning Vulcan would get the message loud and clear. "I'll be with you on landing parties, when you meditate, when you sleep, shower, eat, everywhere. Me - your captain, his come, your T'hy'la's come and the vision of my cock driving into you will never leave your thoughts. I'll always be back there somewhere, me fucking you, owning you this way, like a tickle in your mind."

Kirk could feel himself on the edge and knew it was time. He wrapped a fist around Spock's long, stiff penis and squeezed, beginning to pump it in time with his words until Spock was gasping and throwing his head around and yet, whenever their eyes met, Spock would stare back at him, unblinkingly, into Jim's watchful eyes, his Vulcan's dark ones narrowed in awe, his voice stunned into silence. Yet there was nothing but total love in both.

Kirk kissed him quickly, feeling the need to reassure Spock that he was also there in every possible way; that this was not just about getting off but loving his First always.

Not wanting to lose the rhythm Jim kept fisting Spock faster and faster, while whispering in his beautiful ears. It took every bit of concentration to do both but he wanted to give Spock something, as much of himself as he could because Spock had not held back a thing. "Every place you go from now on, I'll be there and so will the memory of this. From this day forward, I'll be fucking you like this until you're virtually made of me."

Kirk could feel himself on the knife's edge of coming and he knew Spock had to be close too, so he stroked faster and pumped harder, pulling out almost all the way before driving back in again making sure each time to hit that little gland - substantially larger in Vulcan's than humans so it was not difficult - until Spock was panting – his gasps for air too irregular and too deep to make the purr – which sucked a bit but still it was a huge turn-on to see Spock so turned on!

"And only you'll know it. No one else'll know I've filled you up, just you and me, but especially you. Because I'm your T'hy'la, that's true, but you're mine too, and even more, I'm your commanding officer and this is what I wish. And I know you Spock; I know that if you can at all help yourself, you would never fail to grant me what I wish. This is my wish, Spock, loving you, doing this to you - my cock inside you, fucking you just like I'm doing now, coming-inside-you-every-day- AH!-NNGG -until th-th'day-I-I-OH-JESUS-OH-FUCK!-DIE!"

STSTSTSTSTST

Part IX asap :D


	9. Part 9

Evidence of the Figurative Part IX  
By GE Waldo  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock   
Summary: He saved his captain. It was the worst and best decision of his life.  
STSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Kirk woke up to the tickle of dark hair strands trying to migrate up his right nostril. He pulled his nose out of his first officer’s – his mate, his Bonded, his Link- his husband for God’s sake-wow-holy-fuck-wow-ME!-Who-would-have-ever-thought-wow! – hair, and opened sleep encrusted lids to see that his better half, his Vulcan, was still sound asleep. 

Kirk felt something flutter in his chest. His organs felt airy and new; like he was flying; like butterflies on really great drugs or a bird diving off a ten thousand foot crag. He knew it was fanciful but that trickle of protect!love!nurture!mine! swiftly became a swell; a fast stream; a mighty river of tenderness. 

Spock was naked, as he was, because the blanket had slipped from their tangled limbs to the floor. Kirk didn’t care a whit about the chill over his back because it was affording him a lovely morning view of a sleeping Vulcan’s very nude body. Spock had his hands tucked between two nicely muscled thighs. Kirk took a moment to study his partner’s anatomy in the artificial light of his quarter’s AM controls – he’d forgot to change them and the lights had gradually come on at their usual ungodly hour of six AM. They were still at half mast but it was enough illumination that he could now examine, up close and personal, certain differences in their bodies that he’d either been too frenzied, or too impatient to worry about the previous two days of mutually rutting each other into exhaustion.

Spock was sleeping through the room’s strengthening light undisturbed. From whatever reading he’d managed to get in between shifts and his other endless duties Kirk had just learned of the Vulcan second eyelid, an evolutionary adaption that evolution had designed to block out certain UV rays on Old Vulcan. An adaption to survive what Kirk would assume had come because of the blinding reflection of Old Vulcan’s white sun on the vast stretches of bleached sand of his former home world. Not much different than snow-blindness; a similar risk in certain frigid Earth lands. 

What would it feel like, he wondered, to lose your home planet? What if it had been Earth? Kirk could not imagine the devastation. He knew Vulcans had to be suffering, even though they were outwardly being all logical about it and making their new world over to their liking, but still...Spock had to have deeply mourned. Maybe he still was. Every Vulcan still alive had lost virtually everything that made them who they were, including the telepathic collective background ‘mind’ of billions of individuals – a soothing mental foundation necessary to the sanity of many telepathic species, Vulcans more vulnerable to its loss than most because they had no emotional foundations on which to fall back. The Vulcan race was scrambling to right itself but some, unable to cope, were failing. Reports of suicides on New Vulcan continued to drift in. 

Kirk shook his head to dispel the sober thoughts. 

This was basically their honey-moon. No room for negative stuff. 

Kirk’s gaze fell over Spock’s up-swept dark brows, which Kirk had always found pretty hot, and the Vulcan’s still closed eyes. Maybe Spock’s second eyelid came into play when they slept? Maybe they blocked out the light? Or maybe Spock didn’t need to use alarms? Maybe his magnificent memory woke him at any hour of his choosing? With a brain like that, it was probably a mere matter of pre-programming or something.

Kirk’s eyes drifted back to Spock’s lower quarters, smiling to himself, reveling in the freedom to do so. I’m his husband now. I’m allowed to shamelessly ogle my sleeping Vulcan anytime I want to. Kirk was interested to see that Vulcan’s had an extra ridge of flesh on their Glans located halfway between the tip and the shaft of the long, slightly thinner penis, the plump head of which was a darker shade of artichoke than the rest of him. Spock, at his conscious ‘resting’ physical state was (despite McCoy’s insistence on the on-going ‘green hobgoblin’ jokes) shaded over with a more yellowish tone than green, like a creature of the desert. Not too surprising although Kirk knew Spock’s colouring had everything to do with his copper-based blood and not that his old world had been a massive and more arid version of New Mexico, with its colours range of every shade of yellow to that of charcoal. Beautiful. Spock was beautiful.

Kirk wondered if the narrowness of Spock’s penis was a natural trait of Vulcans or of just Spock himself. He was a long narrow guy after all. Not that the thing, when fully aroused, had remained thin Kirk recalled with a mental leer. The scrotal sack was tucked in closer to the body, less pendulous than a human’s, and, as far as Kirk could observe with a wry half smile, stuffed with a pair of respectably sized testicles. Spock’s body hair was darker than his, naturally, but - Kirk’s fingers wiggled with the memory - much softer than his own. 

The feel of that hair under his fingers and the sight of that penis swollen and sliding against his own, was becoming tactile actually as his own cock came to quick attention. Some morning sex would top their two day fuck-a-thon perfectly. Kirk reached out a hand and stroked Spock’s hair, silky as a child’s, now mussed and disarranged out of his customary Vulcan severity. Spock like this, all soft and quiet, was a sight Kirk couldn’t have imagined mere weeks ago. All sleeping and limp, Kirk loved it. Spock was so cute like this.

“Hey...Spock?” He whispered, knowing that those Vulcan ears wouldn’t need much volume, even when they were as sleepy as their owner. 

But Spock didn’t twitch. He just kept on breathing in and out as steady as a machine, his limbs unmoving. He wasn’t even in a dream, there was no REM – did Vulcans dream? And if they did, did they have REM? Kirk didn’t actually know. 

“Spock?” A little louder this time. 

Kirk wondered if maybe he could just roll his man onto his back and climb on top of him - get things started? That would be delicious but he wasn’t sure if Spock would appreciate it or not. Did Vulcans even get morning wood? Their body temperature and blood pressure was much lower than humans but they had the learned ability to regulate both to some extent –another desert creature survival thing-a-ma-jig probably. He was sure he’d read that somewhere. Kirk realised there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Vulcans which made him feel like a bit of an impulsive moron because he’d, for all intents and purposes, just married one for fuck’s sake.

“Spock?” At his normal voice, and this time he placed his left hand on Spock’s shoulder and shook him a little. There was no response. Okay, that couldn’t be normal, could it? “Spock??” He shook him harder and Spock still didn’t move at all. Not an eyelash.

That wasn’t normal. Kirk sat up and shook him harder, shouting into his ear “Spock. Wake up!” 

No response. “Shit.” Nope. Not normal.

“Fuck!” Kirk scrambled out of the narrow bed and jabbed at the comm. control on his desk. He didn’t care who he might be waking up. “Kirk to Med-bay! Bones!”

/‘Med-Bay here’/

Good - Bones was up and he sounded awake, even cheerful, so he’d already had two coffees. “Bones, I need a medical team to my quarters right away - Spock won’t wake up.” Kirk thought he heard a muffled chortle in the background but the doctor spoke right away so he couldn’t be sure. “On my way...”

Kirk wasn’t certain but McCoy also sounded a bit...unhurried, as though he’d been up and waiting for the summons.

Eight agonizing minutes later – where-in Kirk had called Bones personal communicator twice more urging him to move his ass – McCoy entered the captain’s quarters dressed in his medical uniform and doctor’s jacket carrying a small hypo-sprayer in his right hand. Kirk, meanwhile, had slipped on a pair of baggy grey jogging pants over his nudity, not bothering with a shirt, and all but dragged McCoy over to his seeming comatose husband, babbling his fears. “Something’s wrong - he won’t wake up - why won’t he wake up - he seemed just fine last night.” Jesus did I break him?

Bones leaned over the sleeping Vulcan and Kirk was glad he’d thought to cover up Spock’s lower half with the blanket. But Bones seemed unconcerned. In fact Kirk was sure he looked...amused. 

“What’s so goddamn funny!?” Kirk demanded, furious on behalf of his sick husband. 

Bones straightened up. “Jim, relax. I guess Spock didn’t tell you, or maybe I should have – but this is normal. Spock’s coming out of his very first Pon Far,” Bones waved a hand in the general direction of Kirk’s bed - “this always happens to them – to the Vulcan male at least. I imagine it was an evolutionary adaption to their survival – most specifically the survival of the male because the females would likely kill them if they didn’t stay still and shut up for a while after being such a major horny pain in the ass for the weeks leading up to it. But in reality it’s a self-repair system. The women get pregnant and the males go to sleep for a while. Not too different than most marriages actually - though I don’t imagine there’ll be a pregnancy for your two anytime soon. But anyway, Captain, it’s a sign that his Pon Farr was perfectly normal so basically you went to bed with a pseudo-adolescent and you’ve woken up with a full grown Vulcan. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Kirk was a bit stunned; focusing in on what was to him the pertinent material and ignoring the rest, especially Bone’s crack about either one of them getting pregnant. “He’s supposed to fall into a coma?”

Bones leaned over again and pressed a hypo against the right side of Spock’s throat. “This is just a vitamin shot. Couldn’t hurt.” Plus as a doctor he knew that worried family members of a patient always felt better if it looked like you were doing something useful for their loved one. “And it’s not a coma; it’s the post-Pon Farr equivalent of a healing trance. Vulcan males undergo a huge physical strain prior to and during the Pon Farr. His body’s basically been through a three week marathon of muscle tension and raging hormones –not to mention two solid days of doing the nasty - that have wrecked havoc on him. Once the reproductive hormone levels start dropping back closer to normal, the males fall into this – basically a very deep sleep - until their bodies can repair themselves a bit. Spock’ll sleep for about forty-eight hours, Jim, but he’ll be fine.”

Kirk felt like an idiot for his previous panic and flashing Bones a sheepish twitch of his lips. “Wish he’d told me.”

“You know how closed-mouthed Vulcans are. Plus he probably assumed you’d read about it. You did decide to link with him after all.”

Kirk rubbed at his hair, a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, I did. I told him I had...done some reading.” Evidently not enough. “So is there anything else I oughta’ know? He’s not going to wake up and be, I dunno’, some sort of stubbornly double-Vulcan irritating robot I’m going to want to strangle is he? I mean, he’ll be himself still – right?” 

“He’ll be fine. Stop fretting like a mother. And he’s not the only one who oughta’ get some more rest. I can approve another day of post-nooky recovery for you too, if you want. And you could use a dermal regenerator on some of those bruises you know. Your back looks like a checker-board.”

Kirk had no idea what his back looked like and walked to stand in front of his mirror, twisting his torso to see what he could see of it. “Shit.” He had dozens of finger-print sized bruises on his back. “I musta’ got those when I was -” Kirk suddenly realised what he about to say and clamped his mouth shut before he did. Bones would probably not want the details. “Um, never mind.” He checked his chest and stomach; a dozen or so blue and yellow splotches had bloomed there too. And he could actually, now that he consciously thought about it, feel a few significantly placed bruises on his pelvis area as well. He decided not to mention those ones either though he remembered with great fondness how he’d gotten those.

Bones turned to go. “You did pretty well actually, considering most humans would come out of a sex-marathon with a Vulcan with broken bones or a concussion. I guess the sedative did its magic.” 

“Yeah, thanks for that. I guess most...um intimacies won’t be so -”

“-Yeah, no, and how ‘bout we don’t talk about that?” Bones urged, raising a palm to prevent any more ‘Guess who I banged?’ guy talk. “Suffice to say most times it’ll be a lot more...vanilla, so we’ll just tuck the sedatives away for another seven years.”

Kirk nodded. “Right, uh, thanks Bones.”

Bones waved and saw himself out the door. His shoulders were shaking. 

Kirk rolled his eyes and hoped the good doctor didn’t put too many details in his log about this morning. 

After locking the door he sat on the edge of the bed and just watched his Vulcan sleep for a few minutes. Then he leaned over and placed his lips against Spock’s messy hair, letting them rest there for a few seconds. Astounded at the surge of affection he felt for Spock, just here, just now in this simple room in this complicated life. But a good life. Yes, pretty damn alright. Muttering into his hair and hoping his sleeping partner would hear - “I of all people...get you.” 

His desk comm. squealed for his attention and when Kirk answered, McCoy didn’t wait for a greeting. “By the way, when Spock starts to wake up, he’ll be twitchy – his muscles will tremble; all over, it’ll look kinda’ like mini-seizures but it’s perfectly normal so don’t get antsy about it. And he might...” 

Kirk could swear he spotted another repressed smile on Bones’ lips and wanted to snarl ‘I’m glad my husband’s autonomic systems are keeping you entertained “doctor”. Do you like your post here because we could make an adjustment?’ But he figured it sounded too childishly petulant for a ship’s captain. At the Academy he wouldn’t have held back at all.

“...purr.” Bones finished, and this time he could not keep the half-laugh from sneaking through, although he did try to cover it with a cough, as patently fake though it was.

Kirk sighed. He may as well enjoy the joke. He felt like he was going to get a lot of them once the purring thing got around although he hoped the crew would have the sense to not joke about it around the ship’s First Officer. He felt highly protective, now, of Spock’s feelings even if the bugger continued to insist he didn’t have any, and Kirk figured if the crew found him a little touchy on the subject of his new husband’s sensitivities, well, they could just go stuff themselves in a Jeffries tube on Bake! Maybe he could figure a way to write it into the Enterprise’s ship-board professional behavioral protocols. He was pretty lax with the crew on most things; a bit of tightening up here and there wouldn’t be amiss. 

He felt an almost instinctual need to safeguard Spock’s emotional state. He guessed it was the Vulcan marriage thing - The Link probably - doing it. He didn’t mind.

“Yeah, thanks, I knew about the purring thing.” If not about all the times it might occur. Despite the hundred years or so that Earth had been made aware of Vulcans and other-worldly life forms, it was crossing his mind more and more since he and Spock had become linked that he was married to an alien now. Spock was alien. It was both sexy as hell and terrifying.

Kirk looked over to Spock’s resting form. I love you so fucking much Spock. You have no idea.

He ought to do something to change that. He kissed him again “Sleep well...” 

He almost added ‘baby’, but his mouth silently hung open instead. Would ‘babe’’ be better? Neither moniker sat right on his tongue. ‘Honey’ was too sugary and ‘Love’ was just too formal. ‘Sexy’? ‘Dear’? Sweetheart? Did Vulcan do pet names?

“Spocky,” Kirk whispered into his sleeping mate’s deaf ear, an evil smirk crossing Kirk’s features. Maybe useful if a time came where the Vulcan was blue-balling him and needed some convincing to strip out of his clothes for his captain. 

Kirk would have to think about it. 

END STSTSTST

The next chapter will be basically the beginning of a new story/sequel.   
Coming soon:  
Pilgrim (sequel to Evidence of the Figurative)  
Pairing: Kirk/Spock  
Setting: 2009 movie Star Trek Universe  
Rating: Adult/slash  
Summary: A reboot/reworking of elements of Journey to Babel from ST:TOS with some differences (obviously). Spock is left in command after Kirk is attacked by an unknown assailant. This makes for great strain/angst among the crew, the Enterprise’s armada of diplomatic guests en-route for a conference to the planet Pilgrim Major and for Spock and his new relationship with the captain, a test of his love and loyalty.


End file.
